Poison
by viktriap
Summary: The VCTF has a disturbing case in Boston which can ruin not just John's FBI-carreer but also his life.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything of course and I won't tell this again…**

**Author's note:**

**First, for the timeline: This story has nothing to do with my former Profiler stories. It takes place in season one not much after Night Dreams (episode #7), so Sam doesn't know her workmates that well.**

**2. I live in a small town in Hungary, so I know nothing about Boston. However I made some research and the places that are mentioned are real (due to the sources on the Net, at least). Every other detail is made up by me so I hope if there's somebody from Boston amongst the readers he/she won't feel offended. **

**3. I wanted to mention that this was my first idea for a Profiler story but when I started to write fanfics I didn't feel myself capable to write such a complicated story. **

**4. This story will contain some disturbing themes, so be warned: I didn't rate it as 'M' by accident.**

**I think I managed to write my longest AN ever!**

**I hope you will like this story and if you do please let me know! Thank you!**

**Poison**

Chapter 1.

The briefing started a little bit late which was very out of character for Bailey. They started at nine every day and now it was already five past nine and their boss was nowhere to be seen. Sam looked around the table at her workmates. Grace was staring into her cup of coffee and Sam knew that she was close to sleeping in. They all went home late the day before – or actually for Sam it was already today, at 1 a.m.! – because of some very difficult cases they were working on.

George was doing something again on his computer and he looked quite vivid despite the few hours they managed to sleep in the last weeks. It was nothing new of course but these past weeks were really rough even by FBI standards. John, on the other end of the table, was massaging his shoulder absentmindedly. Sam guessed that the gun-shot wound still hurt him however when he was more awake he showed no sign of this. Sam also noticed that he wore the same shirt as yesterday.

Sam rubbed her eyes and thought about her decision again: it wasn't even five months since she came back to the FBI and she already regretted it more times that she could count. She had to see the most terrible things every day, she had to work extremely impossible hours, she could spend less and less time with Chloe and she could get injured or even die… she was still here. Why? Sam knew that the main cause of her decision was some good old sense of guilt. She felt remorse because she couldn't stop Jack, because she didn't use her gift for so long, because she let Bailey down… the list was endless. She also knew – as a psychiatrist at least – that most of these feelings were unfounded. But this knowledge didn't change anything, so she stayed.

Fortunately Bailey's coming put off her brooding. Their boss was a little bit out of breath and seemed to be rather irritated.

"I've just talked to Assistant Director Murdock" he started without any preamble. "From today on we have a new priority case and we are leaving to Boston in half an hour."

"Great" Grace groaned.

"What's with the other cases?" Sam asked. "We have already eleven ongoing…"

"The consultations are given over to Quantico, the actual investigations are still ours but this case in Boston is the most important. I don't know much yet, they are sending over the files at the moment so we can speak about it during the flight, but in a nutshell: four teenagers were killed brutally. They were practically beaten to death and before that they were all raped. It's a great stir in the news and the local detectives found nothing until now. The main problem is that the murders happened in a part of the city that is known to be the base of more organized crime groups. So it's quite a delicate situation."

"Grace and George you're also coming. Now that Nathan is on leave I'll need you both. That's all people, pack and be ready in twenty minutes!"

"Wow" George said "Murdock really managed to blow Bailey's mind this time."

"We better pull ourselves together" Grace added and stood up abruptly. "I'll go packing."

Sam also stood up and decided to call Angel. She didn't really have to pack, she always had a carry-on in her office and she didn't have any other equipment. When she walked back out, after talking not only to Angel but also to Chloe she found only John there. He was at his desk, a backpack in front of him and he was talking on the phone while writing on a notepad.

Sam knew that he was probably talking to someone at the Boston Police Department. It was always John's task to arrange everything with the locals and get as many information as possible. It wasn't always easy as the FBI was often the enemy and the agents were the ones who wanted to steal the case. From the deepening frown on John's face Sam concluded that this time was no different.

She stepped next to the other agent just as he was finishing the conservation.

"…I understand but it really would be very important for us to see the scene untouched… All right, but please do what you can… thank you…"

He put down the receiver and cursed.

"The thickheaded Irish bastard…"

"Hey, don't be a racist…" Sam said with a smile.

"I can't be: my ancestors came from Ireland themselves."

"Did they?"

"Unfortunately" he took the backpack with his right hand and then dropped it back down with a hiss of pain.

"Are you all right?" Sam asked worriedly. "Is your shoulder hurting?"

"It's just because I spent the night at this desk…" he answered shrugging, but Sam had to notice that even the shrug was done only with the left shoulder.

"You worked all night?" she asked instead making a comment on that one.

"Theoretically. But I slept in at about three and woke up in a quite uncomfortable position."

"You should be more careful. How much time's gone by since your injury, three weeks?"

"I'm fine, Sam. Let's not talk about it, okay?" and he turned back to the notepad, indicating that he finished the conversation.

Sam just sighed and made her own comment about thickheaded Irish bastards only mentally.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The assistant director was very generous and offered his own plane for their ride so they could talk about the case without being watched by curious tourists. The plane was quite luxurious and not for the first time John had to wonder how it came that the VCTF had financial problems all the time while their superiors were traveling with such vehicles. But this put back his thoughts on their destination and the coldness in his heart raised its ugly head again.

He hated Boston. Every time he had to travel there the memories he buried in the deepest corners of his mind came back with full force. That was why he avoided the city. The last time he was there was almost five years ago when his grandfather died. Last year they had a case in Boston but he managed to stay in Atlanta. With some excuses he achieved that only Nathan had to go. Now though, Nathan was occupied with his disintegrating marriage and deserved his few days off.

He shook his head and turned back his attention to Bailey who was talking about the murders.

"The first victim was Josh Hardy, 15. He was found by a homeless man in a dumpster. On Friday afternoon he didn't go home from school and the locals think that he was abducted on his way home. They found remains of a strong tranquilizer in his blood but only in low dosage so they guess that he was awake by the time the murder happened, during the night. His arms were bound behind his back and there are signs of struggling. He was raped and beaten. The direct cause of his death was the mangle on air caused by his collapsed lungs. The second victim, Derek Blair, 16. Also found in a garbage container last Monday. He disappeared on Saturday two weeks ago after a party. He was also narcotized, raped and beaten. Died of brain trauma caused by a skull-fracture. The third teenager died of extreme blood-loss caused also by the beatings. His name's Alan Brenson and was only 14. The fourth victim was found only hours ago… John?"

"I talked to the leader of the investigation, a Detective O'Malley. He wasn't very helpful but he promised not to ruin the scene totally. The victim is yet unidentified but is about fifteen and was severely beaten. A patrol found him in a container next to a restaurant. All the murders happened in District 4 and the boys were residents in that area."

"So our murder has a territory. He probably lives there" Sam said.

"The district has a Sexual Assault Unit and the case belongs to them. This is all I could find out. And a rented car already waits us at the airport."

"All right" Bailey took the word again. "I made copies of the files, read them."

He handed out the folders and after he took one John sat back on his seat and started to read through the files. Or at least he tried to until Sam dropped down next to him.

"Don't you have something to read?" he asked.

"I just wanted to ask you if you are all right" the blonde woman asked with an innocent smile.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem to be… I don't know, distant…"

_Does this woman recognize everything?_ John cursed mentally. He knew that he wasn't there totally during the briefing however he thought that nobody could notice it. He could always hide his emotions, he mastered it at a very young age. He strengthened his barriers and answered nonchalantly.

"I'm just tired."

"Of course… it's been a tough two weeks, especially with your injury…"

"There's nothing wrong with my shoulder, Sam!" he snapped suddenly and added. "I have to read this through if you don't mind…"

He didn't know what fell into him to become so irritated. _It has to be Boston… _he thought.

"Okay… I'm sorry" Sam said quietly and he could see the surprise in her eyes.

He wanted to apologize but she was already gone and he didn't know whether it would be a good idea to continue their conversation. He was too irritated and tired for a shrink at the moment.

He started to read the report and tried to close out the aggressive memories that tried to attack his mind. It wasn't just Boston but the area. District four. That meant South End, Roxbury and Fenway. Those were the places where he grew up, the land of his father. O'Doyle had a lot of interests in that area: pubs, clubs, restaurants and of course the betting offices, most of those were completely legal.

John guessed that they would have a lot of problems with the local detectives. He didn't want to be prejudiced but higher ranking officers were in connection with the mob on some level at almost every department. Even if the Sexual Assault Unit was of no real interest for the organized crime groups they still might have some people there. Not to mention that in this part of the city people didn't like to talk to members of law enforcement. It will be very hard to find witnesses.

He was still brooding when their pilot announced landing. So they were here, and he still didn't find out how to face the city.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam couldn't stop studying John while they were getting off the plane. He behaved very strangely. She tried to ask Bailey's opinion about it but her old friend didn't see anything extraordinary. He only said that John sometimes became moody but Sam has never experienced something like this from the younger agent. John never lost his cocky style and ridiculous sense of humor, even when they were working on the most terrible cases, he was the one who kept up their spirits.

Now though he was almost grim.

They found their rented car and packed in everything.

"The body was found in Thwig Street" Bailey said and turned to George. "Do you have a map of the city?"

"Of course, just a moment…"

"We don't need it" John cut in. "I know where it is, I'll drive."

"Okay then."

Sam ended up to sitting next to John in the front seat and couldn't stop herself from asking:

"Have you been here before?"

"Yes."

"You had a case here?"

"No."

"Your vocabulary is quite limited today" she said jokingly but John obviously wasn't at his humor.

"I'm sorry, Sam" he didn't take off his eyes of the road while he was speaking. "I simply hate this city, it awakes some bad memories."

"Sorry… I don't want to pry."

"No, it's okay. Just let's not talk about it…"

"All right."

The rest of the way they spent in silence and Sam went back to read through the reports.

They found the crime scene easily, as it happened in a small street and it was closed down by two patrols. John parked down and after showing their badges they could go through the lockdown. Only George stayed behind, he wasn't needed at the scene and he wasn't really fond of seeing dead bodies.

A lanky, dark haired man in his forties greeted them.

"You're from the FBI if I'm not mistaken! I'm Detective O'Malley."

"Yes, I'm Bailey Malone. You've talked to Agent Grant already and these are Agents Waters and Alvarez."

They shook hands.

"I'd like to examine the body" Sam said.

"Of course. We pulled it out but other than that we didn't touch it."

He wasn't impolite but there was something in his face that told Sam that they weren't welcome. She started off with Grace and let Bailey back to handle the local hostility.

The body was lying next to container and Sam almost gasped when she saw the state of it. Even Grace, the experienced coroner took in a sharp breath.

"Oh, my… I don't envy his mother" she said quietly.

Grace kneeled down next to the naked body and pulled on gloves.

"His cheekbones are definitely broken, and so is his nose… at least five ribs on the left side… and four on the right… but I say this only to the touch… bruises all over the abdomen" she cautiously rolled over the body. "He was raped…I'll let myself escort to the morgue together with the body and I'll tell you more after the autopsy."

Sam watched the face of the boy. She could see even through the many bruises that he must have been a good-looking teenager.

"I don't think that this was a sexual crime. This was about power and vengeance" she said quietly. "He gratified his wishes and then dropped down the body here and he wanted it to be found very quickly… I'll go and talk to Bailey" she said then, shaking herself out of the grips of the horrible pictures that were invading her mind.

Bailey was still talking to Detective O'Malley, John was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you have sex offender registry?" Bailey was asking at the moment.

"Yes, and we checked every known assaulter but none of them is our suspect. We could find it out easily as this guy had left is semen in every victim. He isn't scared, that's for sure."

"Did you find out something about the boy?" Sam asked.

"No, but two of the others went to Boston High School."

"I'll go there with John, if you don't mind" Sam turned to Bailey.

"Okay. Do you think that this boy went to the same school?"

"Yes. This man has a limited hunting territory and anyway I'd like to find out as much about the victims as possible. Where's John?"

"He takes a look around. However I don't think that we'll be able to find any witnesses here."

"People here around tend to close their eyes if they see something" O'Malley said. "It's often the wisest decision…"

"You think so?" came a voice from behind and when Sam turned she saw John staring at the detective.

"Actually, I do. It's not very tactical to fight against the mob."

John obviously wanted to tell something more and Sam guessed that it wouldn't be too 'tactical' either, so she cut in.

"John, do you know, where the Boston High School is?"

"Yes" he grumbled but was still staring at O'Malley.

"Then let's go!"

They were already in the car that they got from the locals (so that George and Bailey could use the rented one) and John was still fuming – at least Sam thought so, because he didn't say a single word.

"I thought our strategy is to be friendly to the local detectives, to build up a good working relationship" Sam said after they pulled away from the scene.

"This O'Malley is a corrupt bastard."

"You know him already?"

"I know his kind. And he obviously doesn't want us here."

"That's true."

"I told you so…"

Sam decided to let this topic for later when John was less angry, leant back in her seat and closed her eyes to rest a little bit.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	2. Chapter 2

Author's note: I'm sorry this took this long but you know how slow I am. Now though I will have a little bit more time so updates may come faster. Thank you for reading and please review and tell me how you like it.

**Chapter 2.**

John stopped in front of the school and studied the building. He was glad that he had some time before they went in. Sam's cell rang when they were getting out of the car and at the moment she was pacing back and forth on the pavement talking to her daughter. The school hasn't changed much. It was painted in grey, and to be honest it looked more like a prison than a school: there were bars on the windows on the first and second floor and graffities covered the walls.

He remembered the first day he came here fourteen years ago.

He stood in front of the door almost the same way he was doing now. It wasn't in September though but in January. He didn't start high-school here because his father wanted perfect education for his son. It didn't function too well though because the teachers in a private high school had no idea about who Patrick O'Doyle was and they weren't blind.

John was a master in excuses but those teachers weren't stupid either. That year wasn't as bad as for example the one two years before, when the FBI got housewarrants for every single interest of his father and then they closed his clubs for months because of some tax issues. Still, the signs were rather obvious.

In September he had a bad bruise on his chin. In October he had three broken fingers, in November a concussion from which he fainted on the corridor. Then, as the last drop, in early December when his Math teacher, Mr. Dippett asked him to the board in lesson, he couldn't write on it because he wasn't able to raise his arm. Mr. Dippett then took him to the school-nurse and she decided that John's collarbone was possibly broken so his teacher took him to the hospital.

Well, that was something to remember: Mr. Dippett surely was surprised! The doctor cut down his T-shirt and found a bruise on his back as big as the doctor's palm twice. John said that he fell with his bike and that was when he hit his shoulder. The truth was that his father shoved him against the wall so hard that he passed out. The doctor accepted his answer but Mr. Dippett didn't.

He talked to the principal and the school's psychologist paid them a visit. She didn't come at the best of times: Patrick O'Doyle had some 'business partners' there. Business partners, whose suit-jackets were surging by the weapons they were wearing. Moreover his mother was more than a little bit tipsy. The psychologist practically fled the house.

After this the social service would have been the next logical step, but they never came. John's father visited the principal and however John didn't know what his father could have told to the respectable old man, he had his suspicions. He knew enough of the methods of a professional loanshark.

So, he spent two more weeks at the school and after the winter holiday he started here...

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

„John!"

He drowned the shiver in the last minute and hoped that Sam didn't notice his state of mind.

„Have you finished?" he asked quickly.

„Yes. Can we go in?"

„Of course..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam threw worried glances at John while they were walking on the empty corridors of the school. Fortunately the other agent didn't look at her and so he didn't notice her expression. After she had finished her conversation with Chloe she called his name three times without any reaction. John was staring at the raunchy building of the school, both hands pushed deep into the pockets of his coat, as if he were freezing, although the sun was shining brightly and it was rather warm for late October. When she touched his shoulder she could feel him shiver under the touch.

She realized that John didn't even take a look around, he seemed to know where they were going.

„You know this school?" she asked suddenly.

„Yes."

„You've been at the principal's office many times?" she asked jokingly to loose the tension in his partner. It was successful partially because John smiled slightly.

„Not as often as you think. I was a very disciplined student."

„It's hard to imagine..."

She didn't get an answer because meanwhile they arrived at the director's office. The name on the door was David Marker. John stopped in front of the door and seemed to hesitate, but only for a second, then knocked. When they heard the quiet 'Come in!' Sam went in first.

„Mr. Marker?"

The principal was a grizzled man in his forties but he seemed to be very fit for his age. He stood up and came out from behind his desk.

„Yes, how can I help you?"

„We are from FBI. I'm Agent Waters and this is Agent Grant" she shook hands with Marker.

Then the director turned to John and his expression turned to pure surprise.

„John?" he asked. „You're John O'Doyle."

It wasn't really a question but John nodded anyway and now it was Sam's turn to be surprised.

„Yes, Mr. Marker. So, you became the new principal."

„Actually, I got the job ten years ago" he was still holding John's hand. „I can't believe this... You became an FBI agent?"

„Yes. Maybe genetics aren't everything after all" Sam has never heard so much sarcasm in his voice before.

„I've never thought that... I didn't mean it that way."

„Never mind! Actually we came because of the recent murders. Two of the victims were your students, right?"

„Yes, unfortunately. Josh Hardy's father works here, he's our Physics teacher. Alan Brenson moved here this year. And you might not know it but Derek was also our student before he dropped out a few months ago. He was a real problem child."

"We have a new victim" Sam said and pulled out a photo that she took with her from the scene. "We couldn't identify him yet but I think you could maybe help us."

She gave the picture to the principal and watched as his face turned into pure horror.

"Yes…" he said quietly. "I know him, he was also our student… his name's Warren Higgins… oh, my God… his mother will be devastated. She lost her husband last year and now this…"

"We will need some data" Sam continued after the man seemed to be pulling himself together.

"I'll help in everything that makes this animal vanish from the streets!"

"We need the files of the victims, and it would help if you could give us a list about their friends, teachers, after-school activities… we need to map their relations because the murderer knew them from somewhere."

"I'll start it right now but it will take a few hours."

"I'll come back later" John volunteered.

"Thank you for your help" Sam told the principal, they shook hands and then left the office.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam waited until they get back into the car but then she had to ask her questions.

"What was this about?"

John glimpsed in the rear-view mirror and started the engine of the car. Sam was sure that he only wanted to win some time.

"Grant isn't my real name" he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What?" she asked back surprised.

John sighed but then started to talk.

"My father isn't exactly on the right side of the law and he wasn't a super-dad either. We lived here in Boston but when I was seventeen I ran away. A few months later I went to the FBI and volunteered to testify against him because I knew a lot about his things…" he trailed off.

"It must have been a hard decision for a teenager" Sam tried to encourage him to continue.

"Yes… and no. It was the right thing to do and I knew it. But it made no difference because he had the best lawyers and he was released after a few months. He considered me to be a traitor. The FBI advised me to change my name and disappear. There was nothing I wanted more than to forget who my father was so I agreed."

"And why Grant?"

He shrugged.

"I didn't come up with a name on time. I was already in the courthouse and didn't know what to say when the administrator started to fill in the format. The courthouse was on Grant Avenue, so I became John Grant."

"And you could keep this a secret?"

"Bailey knows of course. It's in my file because it could have been a security risk."

"Oh. Does he still live here?"

He didn't ask back who she was talking about.

"Yes."

"And this is why you don't like Boston?"

"Yes."

He didn't say more and Sam didn't want to pry. She was stunned enough by this relevation. After their rough start she got to like John and knew that he was a dedicated agent but could have never guessed that he was having such a secret. Now though she could see the shadows in his eyes and suspected that there was more behind this story than these few sentences indicated. But she also knew what it felt like to want to forget your past so she didn't ask more questions.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back at the police station John disappeared in the small office the captain offered them with the excuse to look over the evidence, while Sam went to talk to Grace. Looking over the evidence was really an excuse, truth be told he needed some time alone, far away from the prying eyes of Sam. He had to pull himself together and quickly. _Why the hell did this struck him so hard?_

The last time he felt like this was in the months after he had run away. His emotions were running wild and he wasn't used to that. He could easily end up like the boys on the scene photos: beaten to death… he had surely come close to it a few times during his childhood. But this wasn't it… or at least not only. When he was in Atlanta or in any other town of the country it was easy to forget that he had a father and a past. But not here: every corner, every building, every street wakened a memory in him. And not just memories but also feelings and pain… things that he tried to bury as deep as possible.

He tried to call forth some good memories to find the balance again. His childhood wasn't complete darkness after all: he had friends, he had his mother and grandfather and he also had some good moments with his father. But when he tried to concentrate on these a very different picture came to his mind: the cemetery and he almost could hear the words of the priest…

"…_that he's always been a helpful member of our community. Let's keep his memory alive by honor his initiation, like our club for pensioners or the annual trips he organized. Forgive me if my parlance turns out a little bit more personal than usually but Thomas Kinley was the first man here who accepted me as the new priest and he helped me a lot to warm up the whole community. I thank to him that he helped me to find a new home and a new family here…"_

_The priest's words were only a distant buzz for John. He was standing in the first row and was glaring at the coffin, covered with flowers. There were a lot of mourners at the ceremony which wasn't a surprise: everybody loved his grandfather. Until his retirement he had small grocery store in Fenway and he was everybody's Uncle Tom. John spent a lot of time there when he was a child, when he had to run away from home. He had a stool behind the counter and still could remember the smell of spices on the shelf above his head and the constant chatting that his grandfather had with everybody who came in. _

_Even after he moved away at 17, his grandfather was the only relative who knew where he was and they stayed in touch, mostly through letters but the old man visited him a few times first in New York, then in Atlanta. He even bought a small cabin near Atlanta so he could spend there a few weeks every summer and be close to his only grandson, and the only reminder of his deceased daughter. He never told though that he was ill. John found it out only by chance, in the last weeks. He wouldn't have told it of course if John hadn't called him at the most inappropriate time: when he had his chemotherapy in the hospital. Mrs. Baker the woman who took over the grocery and lived in the same house as Thomas told him the truth. John asked for a leave from his captain and came here immediately. He couldn't help much, but at least he was with his grandfather in his last days. _

_The last days John spent in a haze. He had to organize the funeral, went through the possessions and papers in Thomas' flat and welcomed the many acquaintances who wanted to express their sympathy. He would have liked to be alone and hide in the old flat above the shop but he knew that his grandfather was very outgoing and friendly and would have never sent somebody away. So he talked to everybody and honored Thomas this way. _

_The whole situation hit John quite hard. When he arrived three weeks ago he found a broken man in the place of his strong grandfather. John knew of course that he was almost eighty but he always felt him eternal, he was the only constant adult during his childhood and the only one who loved him unconditionally. It stayed like that until the day he died._

_John spent Friday night next to the hospital-bed because the doctor told him that the time was very near. Thomas was in severe pain and was swimming in and out of consciousness. Around midnight he woke up for a little while and they talked about the old times. At five he woke up again and started to speak in a quiet but determined voice: He told in details how he imagined his funeral and made John promise that he will organize everything that way. Then he squeezed John's hand and said: 'Don't be sorry for me, John… I'll be with my little Mary and your grandmother soon… be strong and remember that we are watching over you… I'm proud of you… your mother is proud of you…'_

_Half an hour later he was dead. John was sitting there for a while, holding his hand, then went back to Thomas' flat, told Mrs. Baker the sad news, then sat in his grandfather's favorite armchair by the window and cried. _

_He suddenly realized that somebody was gently touching his shoulder. Mrs. Baker stood next to him, he looked up and saw as the coffin was slowly lowered into the grave and then the sextons started to bury it. Then people came, shaking his hand, telling how sorry they were and what a good man his grandfather was. Mrs. Baker was the last one, she didn't say anything just asked:_

"_Would you like me to drive you home?"_

"_No, thanks. I'll stay for a while and then I'll walk back to the flat" he felt tears in his eyes again but winked them away._

"_Okay, if you need some company later I'll be home."_

"_Thank you… for everything" he couldn't say more because of the lump in his throat but it was enough for the woman who was like a second daughter for his grandfather. She just squeezed his hand and left. _

_John stayed there until it started to dusk, then he walked out of the cemetery. He was still absorbed in his thoughts maybe that's why he didn't hear the footsteps behind him. When he felt something hard being pressed against his shoulder blade it was already too late. _

"_Step to the wall!" a deep voice ordered and he obeyed and somebody searched him through but they couldn't find anything as he wasn't carrying a gun. Maybe it was a stupid thing to leave in the flat. _

_The gun was still pushed into his back and he knew that this guy wouldn't hesitate to use it. He didn't know who it was but was sure that O'Doyle wouldn't send a coward. John was expecting this since he arrived in Boston but maybe his father still had a heart after all. He at least waited until John buried his grandfather. In a way O'Doyle always respected Thomas Kinley. _

"_We have a message for you from Mr. O'Doyle" the man at his back said. He wasn't alone but John couldn't make out how many companions he had and he didn't dare to risk to turn his head. _

"_I'm not particularly interested…" he said in his most audacious tone._

_The man punched him in the side three times off the reel. He was wearing brass knuckles and it knocked out the air out of John and his knees buckled. Somebody – an other man, so there were at least three of them – grabbed him though and kept steady. _

"_Leave the town and don't come back because next time you won't get away this easily!" the man finished the message and punched him again. _

_This time the other one let go and John fell to the knees. For the first time he looked up and saw that four men were standing around him. Every one of them had guns but only one was having it in his hand. Before he could further study them the youngest kicked him hard on his back._

"_Filthy cop!" he said and kicked him again but before he could do it a third time the one with the gun stopped him._

"_Don't! The order was clear…" he raised his hand with the gun and hit John hard on the temple with it's barrel. _

_He fell heavily to the ground the world darkened around him quickly. The last thing he felt was that the youngest kicked him a last time anyway and then he blacked out. _

_The priest found him about twenty minutes later and John could hardly convince him that there was no need to call the police. In the end he showed the insistent man his badge and this put an end to the argument. _

_He was very angry at himself because they shouldn't have been able to surprise him this way. However his father always had a talent to find everybody in their most vulnerable moment. Why would it be different with his own son? It wasn't important that he would have left anyway, he had his train ticket for the next day. This was only about power, about showing that Patrick O'Doyle could do everything in this town and John could do nothing against it…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"John!"

He looked up from the file that he wasn't reading at all and found Sam standing in the doorway.

"Yes?"

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm just a little bit tired."

This earned him a skeptical look but Sam didn't argue. _How long could she have been standing there? _

"When you drive back to the high school, could you drop me at our motel?" she asked instead.

"Of course. What's the time?" _It sounded quite normal, didn't it?_

"Almost six."

"Then I think we can go right now."

"Just a moment, I'll bring my bag."

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	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the long delay but you probably know by now how I am! Howevery now I'm a full-licensed lawyer asrecently I've passed all my exams and I also got a quite good job-offer so I'm very happy right now and there are only two things that can encreas my writing-speed: happiness and despair! So you can count on more chapters but this is no promise, so don't blame me if I can't accomplish! ;)

Thank you for reading, and really, some more reviews would be very-very nice!

Chapter 3.

_The sounds seemed to be coming from quite a distance however he could clearly see his parents arguing just in front of himself. But his ears were ringing and he felt dizzy… Then his father slapped his mother who by this time was crying almost hysterically. John wanted to do something, say something, shout at them to stop but he didn't… couldn't or didn't dare… the reason wasn't important right now…_

_Patrick O'Doyle stormed out of the room and John heard the banging of the front door. His mother turned to him and told something… at least her lips were moving but John couldn't make out the words._

"_Mom…please…" he didn't know what he was asking for. He didn't want to be left alone, he was in pain and needed the shooting words of his mother. And he knew where she was going as the world was fading out around him and the scene changed. _

"_No… please… no" he was mumbling to himself as he stood on the roadside next to the wreck that had been his mother's car just moments before the impact. He could see the twisted body in the car and the blood on the broken windshield. A lot of blood…_

_Despite the heavy rain the car burst into flames and the screams began…_

John startled awake and sat up so vehemently that he almost fell off the bed. He disengaged himself from the bedclothes and stood up on shaky legs. After throwing a glance at the clock on the bedside table he realized with resentment that he slept no more than two hours.

He knew that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He was quite familiar with this particular nightmare as he's had it for more than ten years and despite its frequent appearance it still shook him to the core every time.

He sighed and made his way to the bathroom. He didn't know how long he could function properly if things continued like this: he had some lag in sleep already back in Atlanta because of the loaded schedule of the team but since they arrived here in Boston, three days ago, things turned even worse. He slept than maybe seven hours in the last three days and when he walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror the signs were visible.

"You have to pull yourself together, Grant!" he said to his reflection and decided to take a long and cold shower to clean himself of the remnants of his nightmare.

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The next morning found the members of the VCTF team in the office that the local police provided them with. In the last days they collected as much information as they could and now Bailey wanted to summarize and discuss everything they found out.

They already went over some issues when George's turn came.

"It seems I found a connection between the victims. Warren Higgins' mother worked in the restaurant where Derek had a part-time job" he said. "It's called Veritas which is ironic as it is a known meeting place for mob-members. It belongs to a man named Patrick O'Doyle who is amongst the leading members of Winter Hill Gang."

The name didn't slip Sam's notice and she looked at John instantly but his face was unreadable and he didn't turn his eyes from George.

"Josh and his parents lived in the same street and due to the data John collected they often ate out, so they probably visited the restaurant a few times" their computer specialist continued.

"And Alan Brenson?" Sam asked but George just shrugged.

"I don't know."

"It's still the best we have" Bailey said. "The murderer knew the boys from somewhere, until now our only option was the school. We continue to check everybody who came in connection with them through the school but we have a new lead with the restaurant. With this it seems though that we can't avoid some organized crime issues. Do you know that place, John?"

"Yes."

"What can you tell about it?"

"It's a highly exclusive place. If you are an outsider you would never notice anything, but if you know where to look you can buy there everything: drugs, weapons, women, information. It is rumored that it was the favorite place of Whitey Bulger."

"Bulger?" Sam knew that name from somewhere but she wasn't at home in organized crime.

"He is number three on the FBI's most wanted list" John said. "He's been on the run since the late sixties. As George said the restaurant's owner is Patrick O'Doyle now."

"There were many investigations against O'Doyle but he was persecuted only once, then though he was charged with a lot of things: racketeering influenced and corrupt organization, murder, conspiracy to commit murder, money laundering and extortion. The DA had to pull back the charges after a few months of trial and he was released" George read from his computer screen.

"I think we should take a look around there" Bailey said. "Sam?"

"I also think so. I'll go with you."

"John, I'll need you as well" their boss said which made John stand up so abruptly that he almost swept down George's computer.

"You want me to go there?" he asked with miscredit in his voice.

"Yes, I do. You know your way about here and we need somebody who understands the language if you know what I mean."

"No, I don't. I don't think this is a good idea."

"But I think. And the last time I checked I was still the boss here around" Bailey said in a strict voice.

"Fine" was everything John answered. "I'll wait for you at the car" and with that he stormed out of the room.

George looked after him with stunned expression while Sam turned to Bailey.

"Can I have a word with you?"

"Of course."

"Private, if you don't mind" she added turning to George.

"Oh, yes, I'm already on my way out" he said immediately and disappeared quickly.

"Was this necessary?" Sam turned at Bailey trying to contain her calm.

"What are you talking about?" he asked back confused.

"This case is influencing John more deeply than you care to notice."

"This is the FBI, Sam and not a nursery. He has to get over his problems."

"Yesterday when we were at the high-school John told me that his birth-name was O'Doyle and that his father was some kind of gangster. I thought you knew that!"

"Oh, yes… I've forgot it. But you don't think that _this _O'Doyle is John's father, do you? O'Doyle is quite a common Irish name especially here, around Boston."

"I don't know if he's John's father or not but even if not there might be some family relationship between them. He could be an uncle or something…"

"Then why didn't John tell us a word? I thin you're overreacting this, Sam and I meant what I told: John knows the city and knows a lot about organized crime… at least more than I do! We need him."

"But…"

"No, Sam! I don't think that we should argue about this more. Let's go instead!"

Sam wanted to say something more but he knew Bailey well and at the moment he didn't seem to be convincible. And maybe he was right after all.

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The Veritas was really an exclusive place. Despite the early hour a quarter of the elegant tables were occupied and when they stepped inside a well dressed and very pretty woman welcomed them. Sam guessed that she was in her forties but she had a perfect body and radiated style and eroticism at the same time.

"How can I help you?" she asked in a deep and sexy voice.

"We are from the FBI. I'm Agent Malone, and this is Agent Waters."

"I see" the woman didn't even flinch but her tone turned into a business-like one. "And how can I help you?" she asked again.

"We would like to ask some questions about Derek Blair" Sam said.

This was the moment, when John – who had to park their car – walked into the restaurant. The woman looked at him and Sam saw the recognition on her face.

"John?" she asked stunned, the professional mask wavering for a moment. She said the name louder than intended and some of the guests looked up and studied them for a brief moment. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm with them" John pointed at Sam and Bailey. "Hi, Karen."

"You work for the FBI?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. And as I see, you're still working here?"

"Obviously. I'm the day-time manager now."

"So, you were promoted."

"You can say so, yes" she still seemed to be taken aback by this change of events but as time passed she realized that they were still standing in the front door and some guests started to throw curious glances at them. "We should sit down somewhere where we could talk more discreetly" she said.

"Lead the way" Bailey agreed and they went to the back of the room and sat down at a vacant table.

"What happened to Derek shook everybody" the woman started. "His mother used to work here as well, that's why he was employed. He usually worked in the kitchen and in the storeroom."

"Did you know him well?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I did. Rachel, his mother is a friend of mine, she's devastated and she stayed alone with her grief."

"What about Derek's father?"

"He's in jail."

"I see. Do you know where Derek spent his free-time?"

"There's an amusement arcade down this street. I saw him there often and his mother told me that with his friends Derek often went out to the old Prescott buildings" she turned to John. "I suppose you know where those are, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. Did he use drugs?"

"I don't know, but you know what the teenagers do out there."

"Yes, that's why I asked."

"What are you talking about?" Bailey asked.

"The Prescott buildings are a bunch of abandoned warehouses. For the last two decades or so only junkies, waifs and prostitutes have been hanging around there" John explained.

"Did Derek have some room, case or locker here?"

"Yes, we have a locker room. I can show it to you if you'd like."

"Yes, please" Bailey said and they were already standing up.

When they turned to leave the room the front-door opened again and three men walked in.

Sam saw the slightly surprised and anxious expression on Karen's face and turned toward the new arrivals who were walking straight to their small group. One of them forwent the others by a step and Sam had a feeling that he was in some way the others' superior. He was a middle-aged man, tall, muscular and only the graying hair and the strict lines around his eyes and mouth talked about his age.

"Look who's back in town!" he said in a biting voice.

Sam glanced at John who seemed to be frozen but before she could say anything Bailey stepped forward.

"We are from the FBI, sir and we are leading an investigation here right now, so if you would excuse us…"

"I know perfectly well who you are, Agent Malone as I'm the owner of this place. Of course, me and all my workmates will help you and provide you with all the information you need but I simply can't tolerate a traitorous bastard like him at my place" he finished pointing at John.

"You are talking about a federal agent, sir!" Bailey said in a warning tone.

"_For_ _you_ he might be a federal agent, for me he's my son and as his father I don't want him here around!"

His words confirmed Sam's strong suspicions and she wanted to say something because the situation was quickly running out of hand for them. But before she, or Bailey could say a word, John spoke up for the first time.

"Believe me, it wasn't my choice to come here! But some sick psychopath is slaughtering boys and I have a job to do" John spoke quietly but his body language betrayed the enormous tension he must have been feeling.

"I'm sure that Agent Malone can find somebody else who can accomplish your job" Patrick O'Doyle said in a tone that indicated that a job that even John can do can't be very complicated. "I had warned you once John, and you know that I never repeat myself, but you're my son, after all. So, I ask you civilly to leave!"

John made a step forward and this way he came face to face with his father.

"You can't intimidate me, because I'm not a child anymore! However, I don't think that you can hate me being here more than myself, so I'll leave now. But I'll stay in town for a while so you better get used to it!" with that he stormed out the restaurant and banged the door so hard that even the walls trembled.

Sam released the air she was holding back in the last moment while O'Doyle turned back to them.

"These are Mr. Dan Wallace and Mr. Paul Featherstone, my workmates. They will help you with everything" he talked as if nothing had happened in the last moments. He was radiating authority and self-confidence. "And now if you'd excuse me, I'd like to have a word with my manager. If you need anything I'll be in my bureau."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam and Bailey left the restaurant about half an hour later and found John sitting in their car. He didn't say anything when they got in and Sam didn't know what she should say and neither did Bailey, obviously as they were sitting in silence for about ten minutes.

They were heading back to the motel and John was driving almost dangerously fast. Sam noticed how hard he was squeezing the wheel, and how his jaw tightened while he was pretending to concentrate on driving.

"John?" she called him quietly. "Are you all right?"

"Please, don't!" he said tensely and a glance at him was enough for Sam to put off all of her questions and so the silence continued.

When they arrived at the motel John jumped out of the car and banged the door just as hard as he had done before in the restaurant. He didn't wait for Sam and Bailey just rushed inside and they caught up on him on the corridor where he was tinkering away with his door-keys. Sam saw that his hands were slightly trembling.

"John!" Bailey stepped next to him. "I'm sorry for not listening to you. It was a bad idea to take you there…"

"No! Please, Bailey, don't apologize!"

Meanwhile he managed to open the door.

"If you had told the truth, I wouldn't have forced you to come with us" Bailey continued but John interrupted him.

"I don't want to talk about it!" he said harshly and already disappeared in his room, closing the door in Bailey's face who stood there stunned.

"I've never seen him so upset in my life" he said turning to Sam.

"I think he's more than upset right now" she said. "Give him some time…"

"But we will have to talk about this later. O'Doyle is not just a pity gangster, Sam! I'm sorry I haven't listened to you either, but I've never realized that he was John's father because in his file there's only the fact that he changed his name but the details are only known to the director of the personnel department who decided about John's adequacy. I just can't understand why he didn't tell me!"

"You can't feel hurt about this, Bailey. I'm sure we will find out more when John calms down a little bit. He will talk to you."

"He will have to, because O'Doyle practically threatened him and I want to know if he opposes any security risks…"

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9


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **Here's the new chapter. Lately it's been so hot that all my inspiration vanished but now it's a little bit cooler and I managed to finish the chapter. I hope you will like it and if you do please tell me! (I don't want to sound pathetic – and honestly I'm used to not getting many reviews – but for the last chapter I didn't get a single one! So please, if there's somebody out there who reads this story, tell me, even if you don't like it at all! Thank you very much!)

**Chapter 4.**

The next morning Sam arrived later than the others at the police station and she found the office-door closed and George sitting outside.

"What's going on?" she asked the computer-specialist.

"Bailey is in with John, they've been closed in for half an hour or so. Do you know what's this all about?"

"I think so" but she didn't say more, she just hoped that Bailey would handle this situation sensitively.

She had very bad feelings about this and didn't even know why. He didn't know John that well and she knew absolutely nothing about his past and the relationship with his father. But the tension between them was obvious even for the untrained eyes and Sam was a professional when it cam to human behavior. And she noted an other thing: Patrick O'Doyle was a dangerous man…

It took twenty more minutes until the door opened and both she and George were invited inside. She threw a quick glance at John. The young agent was standing next to one of the shelves in the room, his arms crossed in front of his chest and he didn't seem to have slept much the night before but he smiled slightly at her and also Bailey seemed to be satisfied so Sam calmed down a little bit.

"I'll be short because we have a lot to do. Sam, I'd like you to go out with John to those Prescott buildings and find friends of Derek. I guess they know much more about his life than any adults we can talk to. After that though you and me have to fly back to Atlanta. I've already ordered our tickets. We have to appear in front of court in the Mendez-case tomorrow. It will take about two days. Until then John and George can take care of things here."

Bailey finished.

"I'll bring the car" John said leaving already but Sam didn't make a move.

"I'm coming in a minute but I'd like to talk to Bailey about something" she said to which John nodded and left without a word.

When they stayed alone Sam turned to her boss.

"I understand that we have to make our confessions in a case but do you think it's wise to leave John here on his own?"

"First, he won't be alone, both George and Grace will stay here. Second, he said that he would be all right with it and even if not I can't do anything else. We need somebody here and neither George nor Grace are field-agents."

"I understand this but I still have a bad feeling about it."

Bailey sighed.

"Honestly? Me too. John seemed to be just fine today but I had the feeling that it cost him a lot to maintain the pretense of being collected. I hope though that I'm wrong… or that he manages to overcome his problems…"

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Sam asked the concern once again back with full force.

"If you can! But he was quite evasive."

"I'll try anyway… When does the plane start?" she asked then changing the subject.

"At 12:15 P.M. Meet you at the airport?"

"Yes. Bye then…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John waited for her in the car but when she got in he didn't start the engine, instead he turned to Sam.

"Before you ask… I wanted to tell you that I'm fine and that I'm sorry for the way I behaved yesterday. I wasn't really prepared to meet my father and hit me hard but I got over it during the night and my relationship with him won't influence my work."

Sam was perplexed to hear him speak so long at once. After all since they arrived in Boston they either talked about the case or Sam got one-word answers from him. She watched his eyes and those seemed sincere to her.

"Are you absolutely sure?" she asked.

"Yes" he nodded without hesitation but Sam saw something flickering in his eyes for a second.

For now though she let it go. Instead she asked:

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. But if you want to be sure about my reliability, you can ask whatever you want and I will answer to my best knowledge."

"This is what you told Bailey earlier?"

"Yes."

"John, for me this is not about your professional reliability. I know that you are a good agent. I'm worried about your personal feelings!"

"You don't have to, Sam! I told you that I'm fine. I'm not the only one who has issues with his parents. He hates me and I don't like him either so we are quits."

"What was this traitor thing, he was talking about? Did he say it because you confessed against him in court?"

"Partly. But it's more complicated than that…" he trailed of and started the car instead of telling more.

"Wherein?"

John smiled slightly but it was a rather bitter one.

"You don't give up easily, do you?"

"Was Bailey easier to assure?"

"Actually yes. But he isn't a shrink, is he?"

"Definitely not. Well?"

"Well… My father wanted me to follow his footsteps. Since I was born, my place in the organization was guaranteed. But I was different… I never enjoyed power or violence… I haven't even bullied the smaller children at school" he said somewhat jokingly, but Sam had a feeling that it was only partly a joke. "He did everything, he could to change my attitude: he made me participate in the most obtrusive sport-teams in the school, he took me to some of his meetings and so on… but I was a disappointment for him. He always thought that I was a weakling…"

Sam started to ask something more but John continued after a short pause.

"I suppose that if I hadn't been so similar to him in appearance he would have thought that I wasn't even his son."

"And your mother?"

"She died when I was a teenager… in a car accident."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago."

"What was she like? Did she agree with your father?"

John laughed out hoarsely.

"Her opinion wasn't asked, Sam. She was a fragile woman… and I don't mean this only bodily. She realized too late what kind of man his husband was and she couldn't get away from him."

"Did he hurt her?"

"Not physically… he would never raise his hand on a woman… at least not like…" he trailed off abruptly, but Sam already had her ideas.

"Not like?"

John just shook his head.

"You mean not like on you?"

"You don't have to overdramatize this. He beated me up once in a while. It was part of his teaching methods" he shrugged in a way that tried to be nonchalant but was rather tensed than anything else.

"Have you ever talked about this to somebody?"

"You mean like in a therapy?"

"Yes, actually."

"I don't believe in therapy and I think that despite my upbringing I became quite a decent person. Don't you think so?"

"Most of the time, yes."

"Just most of the time? With my background I could easily be one of the psychos you are analyzing… Anyway, when I confessed against him for the FBI, they sent me to a psychologist and it wasn't the best experience in my life."

"And what made you decide to go to the FBI that time?" Sam asked.

"O'Doyle killed somebody who was important to me…" he said but before Sam could ask more questions – and she had plenty, of course – he declared: "We are here" Sam couldn't miss the relief in his tone.

She looked out and saw a huge flat area in front of them, with run-down buildings dispersed. In the distance she also could see people moving.

"Let's take a walk, but don't leave your gun behind and always stay close to me" John said before they got out.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Is this place really that dangerous?" Sam asked after they got through the fence of the estate.

"There might be some dangerous people, but you don't have to worry. They don't like law enforcement but they would never get in conflict with us deliberately. But beware the junkies, they can be unpredictable."

The first group they encountered was a bunch of prostitutes. They eyed the two agents suspiciously, especially Sam who obviously didn't belong here. John knew that they would come here today and he was wearing jeans and a leather-jacket instead of suits He showed the women his badge and took out a picture of Derek.

"Good morning, ladies! Can we ask you a few questions?"

A black woman - wearing only a black bra and something red that couldn't really be considered as a skirt - stepped forward.

"Since when is the FBI interested in our doings?" she asked.

"We have no intention of disturbing your business" John said and smiled at her reassuringly. "Would you take a look at this picture?"

The woman bent forward and examined the picture.

"Do you recognize him?"

"I'm not so sure…" she mumbled.

"I see, Miss…"

"My name's Katrina and you know as well as I do that I'm not a miss!"

John smiled at her again.

"All right, Katrina. It would be really important to find the boy's friends. We were told that he often hang out around here."

"Is he in trouble?" she asked.

"You can say so. He was killed by a perverse psycho and we want to catch the murderer."

Katrina studied him thoughtfully and even glimpsed at Sam who nodded in reassurement.

"I know him" she said at last. "I saw him quite often with two or three other guys and sometimes even a few girls. They camped in the MacCormick meat-store, it is over…"

"I know where it, thank you. And thanks for the information" he took a ten-dollars note from his pocket and gave it over to the woman. "Take care of yourself."

"I always do that… Are you sure that you're cop?" she cried after them when they were already walking away. "You are too nice for one! If you are free come back and I show you something for free!"

John winked back at her with a grin and then turned back to Sam who was also smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"Bailey was right, you really know the way around here!"

"Oh, yes! Do you see that red building over there?" when she nodded he continued. "That's where I hang out with my friends."

"Wasn't it dangerous for children?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe it was but we didn't realized it that time."

He remembered only one occasion when they really got scared by a broken-down junkie who told them some nasty things and looked more like a zombie than a human being but other than that… actually it was safer here than at home.

"And what did you do here?"

"A lot of things… when we were really young, eight or nine we played everything imaginable. Later we played cards and smoked and were talking about things…"

Suddenly he stopped mid-sentence because his eye caught another building, a grey one.

"Is something wrong?" he heard Sam asking and he answered automatically.

"No, everything's fine."

But he couldn't chase away the pictures, and the voices… the memories of that day when his father…

_His father took him with to one of his meetings again. It wasn't the first time and John scared that it wasn't the last one either. But these were the worst, when they came to Prescott… _

_Maybe the guy who was dropped to the ground by the two gorillas thought the same. If he thought something at all: he seemed to be too terrified to think straight. John wasn't surprised at all. He was only ten but he knew for sure what was awaiting the man on the ground. _

_The two men let go of his arms but he didn't make a single attempt to stand up. His head was bleeding somewhat but it wasn't the cause of his immobility, the cause was the intimidating form of Patrick O'Doyle who stood in front of the man… or more precisely over the man…_

_John himself stood in one of the corners from where he could see everything and he had no choice but to watch because his father ordered him so and warned him what would happen if he turned away. So he watched._

_O'Doyle stepped closer to the man and started to speak:_

"_You are really disappointing me, James. Thirty-thousand dollars."_

"_I'm really sorry, Mr. O'Doyle" the man's voice was quivering. "I promise…"_

"_I had your promises already. I need something more now!" _

_One of the men – John knew him, his name was Pierre Dechante and he was Canadian - kicked the lying James in the stomach and the man turned into a fetal position and groaned. _

"_I have five-thousand…" he moaned. Now the other bodyguard kicked him and John heard something crack before the man screamed out._

_When he stopped screaming John's father continued._

"_You never mentioned what an interesting job you have, James."_

"_But I'm only a programmer…and not even that good…" he moaned when Dechante kicked him again, this time in the back. _

"_But you have some interesting patrons."_

"_Who…?" he couldn't finish the question because this time O'Doyle himself punched him in the face. _

"_I haven't finished yet" his voice changed into a menacing one. "I don't want to go into details now, but soon you will get a list of people and I want you to get all the data from their computers the next time you make a check on their system. Am I understood?"_

"_But I'm…" the man started but O'Doyle hit him again, harder this time._

"_I never repeat myself. If you happen to ignore my request one day when you go home from work you might find your precious little wife, bound to your bed, naked and bloody. Do you want to try out if I can organize something like that?"_

_The man on the ground was crying by now, his tears mixed with the blood running from his nose and he shook his head vehemently._

"_I didn't hear you right!" O'Doyle said and hit him again._

_John twitched, just like at every other blow but he didn't turn away. However his father showed his back to him, John knew that his father would know if he turned his head. So he watched the scene almost mesmerized. His father was more than intimidating and in a way John was glad that Patrick O'Doyle was occupied with somebody else and not him. But why had he to come here? _

_He was well aware of the fact that his father was a criminal. He knew it since he could remember. He lived through more searches of premises and saw people being taken away by law enforcement. But his father was never one of those who were arrested. And John knew that he was too powerful for that and he also knew that there were some detectives and other police officers who frequently visited the different pubs and clubs his father owned. _

_His thoughts wandered back to the scene when he heard his own name._

"_Come here, John!" his father ordered and however John didn't want to go near to the pathetic and bloody man on the floor, he obeyed immediately._

_His father took his shoulder and this time he was almost gentle. _

"_Remember this, my son: The weak ones end like this. Who do you want to be, the one on the ground or the one standing above?"_

_John knew that this was just a poetic question but the truth be told he wanted to be neither of the two… _

"John!"

He shivered slightly hearing his name again but realized immediately that it wasn't his father who called him but Sam. _How long has he been staring at the building?_ Probably not long because Sam didn't watch him quizzically.

"Yes?" he asked and he guessed he sounded quite normal.

"Which way to go?" the blonde agent asked.

"Left. The building we are looking for is just over the corner."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam followed John over to the group of boys who were standing and sitting on the stairs of the yellow building with the sign 'The best beef in Boston!' There were six teenagers, all of them around the age of 15. Some of them were smoking but most just were watching the two approaching adults suspiciously.

John stepped forward.

"Hi boys! I'm Agent Grant and this is Agent Waters, we are from the FBI and would like to ask you a few questions."

"We didn't do anything!" one of the boys declared.

"We never said you did" Sam answered. "What's your name?"

"Joe."

"Just Joe?"

He just shrugged.

"All right. Did you know Derek Blair?" John asked and the boy seemed to be more interested immediately.

"Are you investigating his murder?"

"Yes, we are" Sam confirmed. "Was he your friend?"

"Yeah… he was my best friend, actually" Joe said and his voice broke a little bit.

"I see. Then will you answer our questions?" Sam asked but the boy still eyed them suspiciously.

"That O'Malley guy wasn't really interested in what I told him…"

Sam saw how John deeply frowned hearing the name.

"So O'Malley talked to you?" there was no sign of the statement in the reports, Sam was sure about it.

"If you call that talking… He asked a few questions but I don't think he listened to the answers."

"We are not from the local police, Joe" John said. "We want to hear everything."

"Let's go a little bit further away…" Joe mumbled and they walked away from the other boys.

"So, what did you tell O'Malley that he didn't want to listen to?" Sam asked.

"I told him about that guy…"

"Which guy?"

Joe sighed.

"I read in the papers that all the victims were r…raped… Is that correct?"

"Yes, unfortunately it's correct."

"When I read it I remembered that man… he was here a few times in the last months and asked many of us to go away with him… he promised money and said that we would like it… That man asked Derek too and not only once but he always said no…"

"Could you describe that man?" John asked.

"I don't really know… he always came here after dark in an old Ford but never got out. He wore a hat that he pulled deep in his face… but I think he was an older man…"

"How old? In his fifties maybe?" John asked taking out a notebook.

"Maybe, I'm not sure but his voice sounded old to me, like my grandfather's and it was hoarse."

"Was he white?"

"Yes."

"Was he slim or rather stocky or fat?"

"I would say average… I only could see that he had a moustache…"

"And the car? Can you tell the exact brand?"

"I'm not good with cars but it was definitely a Ford and quite run-down. And it was dark-blue."

"All right. What was his hat like? Was it a cap or a real hat?"

"Well… it was like the ones gangsters wore in the old movies with a wide rim."

"Did Derek tell you something about that man following him? Or did he meet him anywhere else than here?"

"No, but he told me that his voice was familiar to him…" by now the boy was slightly trembling.

"Hey…" John put a hand on his shoulder. "You did very well, you helped a lot."

"Do you think that man was the murderer?"

"He might be, yes. And I think that you should stay away from here until the murderer is arrested."

"Yeah, sure…"

"I mean it, Joe."

"Okay. I hope you will catch that man, soon."

"We will do everything" Sam said.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What do you think?" John asked while they were walking back to the car.

"I think that we should find this mysterious man" she said.

She wasn't sure that this guy was the murderer but he definitely was a pedophile and she hoped that they could make him vanish from the streets.

"Can you take me to the airport now?" she asked then.

"Of course. While you are away I'll try to find that man and collect more information."

Sam hoped that by the time she came back they would be much closer to close down this case.

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**AN2: **I hugely neglected two of my Profiler stories on this site. One of them is 'Deepest secrets'. The time of neglect is over! The first chapters of that story were rewritten, so if you are interested please check it out. The next chapter is almost ready and will be up in a few days. That's all!

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	5. Chapter 5

Can you see what two reviews did to me! I could have updated yeserday if ffnet hadn't bben in a bad mood, but here it is: chapter five in all it's glory! I hope you enjoy it and thank you for reading.

WARNING: There are some disturbing scenes in this chapter, we are slowly getting to the M rating I chose for the story!

**Chapter 5.**

She picked up the telephone for the third ring.

"Sam Waters."

"Hi, Sam, it's George. Is Bailey around there?"

"No, I'm sorry. Is something wrong?"

"You should come back. There was another murder. The body was found only twenty minutes ago or so."

"I see, I don't know when we can get back. The situation here is more complicated than we thought."

It was true: four days went by and the committee that investigated an older case of the VCTF was still requiring their participation.

"I really think that you should come back as soon as possible, things here are quite complicated too" there was something in George's voice that made Sam uneasy.

"What happened? Is something else wrong?"

"I don't know, Sam. I don't even know if I'm supposed to tell you but John behaves… strangely."

"Strangely? What do you mean?"

"Well… I don't want to bad-mouth but he had more than a few conflicts with the locals especially with O'Malley. Yesterday they almost started a fist-fight."

"I see. I'll talk to Bailey and at least one of us will go back. Where's John now?"

"At the scene. Before he went he asked me to call you and made me check for the next plane, you can be here in two hours. John told me that he would try to keep things untouched there, but if you can't come I have to tell him so."

Sam thought about for a moment. They didn't have another hearing in the afternoon so they could manage. She only had to find Bailey and they could get to the airport instantly.

"We will be there" she promised.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This time the body was found in a more public place, near to a shopping mall. There was quite a large crowd outside the yellow bands. And not just simple gapers but also the representatives of the media, Sam could see some cameras too.

Sam glanced around for John and saw him already coming at their way. When he arrived at their side Sam decided that he didn't look very well: there were dark circles under his eyes and was too pale, his clothes were wrinkled and seemed as if he had just put on the pieces blindly.

"What's up, John?" Bailey asked indicating at the crime scene.

"Fifteen-year old boy, raped and beaten to death just like the others. He had his student card with himself his name is Phillip Dent and he lived in South End and went to Boston High, just like the others" he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Grace takes the body to autopsy after you had taken a look at the scene. We are taking photos of the onlookers and will compare these and the ones from the last crime scene."

While he was speaking he looked around and Sam noticed that his whole posture especially his eyes had a haunted quality that wasn't there when she and Bailey left and that she had never seen in John before.

"Are you all right?" she asked instinctively.

"Yes, I'm just a little bit tired. I went through the database of the Sexual Assault Unit and tried to find the mysterious man with the blue Ford. I went out to the most probable candidates but found nothing…"

He suddenly trailed off and his whole body tensed. Sam followed his gaze but saw nothing extraordinary but by the time she turned back to ask what was wrong John burst into running. For a moment Sam just stared after him and so did Bailey who meanwhile walked over to Grace and the body.

John jumped over the bands that separated the area and grabbed the collar of one of the bystanders. It was an older man in a brown coat and he seemed just as stunned as Sam felt herself. From the distance she couldn't hear the voices but John clearly told him something and the man answered and then John simply punched the man in the face.

Sam saw that this made Bailey move and she followed him but she also could see that all the journalists and the cameras turned in the direction of the scuffle. However 'scuffle' wasn't the best word for what was happening as John simply hit the man again and would have hit him a third time if Bailey hadn't arrived at his side and hadn't grabbed his arm.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked irritatedly.

John tried to get away from Bailey's clutch and he managed too, and tried to hit the man again but he was backing away quickly and Bailey was grabbing John again.

"Keep away this beast from me!" the attacked man cried out. "I didn't do anything!"

"Calm down, John!" Bailey ordered but the younger man still tried to advance on the stranger.

"He's the killer, Bailey! I know it!" he shouted.

"I don't know what he's talking about!" the man said. "I just stopped to see what the commotion was about!"

"Stop this, John! And go now!"

"No, I know him… You don't understand!"

"Yes, you are right: I don't understand because this behavior is intolerable! Go back to the police station and stay there! Now!" Bailey ordered strictly.

John was mumbling something under his nose but seemed to have calmed down a little bit and padded away.

"And now to you, Mr…" Bailey turned back to the man.

"My name's Conelly. Dr. Brian Conelly."

"Doctor Conelly, can you please come with me? I think we should clear this situation as soon as possible."

"I think so too! You can be sure that I will denounce this idiot for assault!" he was nursing his nose that was bleeding slightly.

Sam was silent until this but now she asked.

"So, you have never met Agent Grant before?"

"Never in my life but thank you for telling me his name, so at least I can report this to his superiors."

"I am his superior Doctor Conelly and I assure you that I will talk with him about this but now can I see an ID of you?"

"Yes, but as I told you I didn't do anything and as I see it I'm the victim here."

Bailey took notes of the doctor's personal data and then let him go, after all there was nothing suspicious about the man. When they were walking back to the scene many of the reporters tried to ask what happened and why did an agent attack a bystander but Bailey hushed them away politely. Sam could see though that he was fuming.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

One hour later Sam and George were sitting in front of the office again and heard the angry voices that came from inside.

When they came back, John was really waiting for them but he was anything but calm. He quickly started to explain how he knew that man was a probable suspect but Bailey ordered him into the office and since then they were inside.

George squirmed on his chair.

"Have you an idea about what happened to John?" he asked at last.

"This case is affecting him very deeply" Sam answered evasively. "Can you tell me what happened while we were away?"

"Well… John was working like obsessed. I know that he wasn't back at the hotel for the last two days. The last time we were back though there was an… incident…"

"Incident?"

George sighed.

"I don't really know what that was about… When we arrived at the hotel, there were two men… and John said that he had to talk to them. He said that I should go to my room but I waited in the hall… When he came back he looked disheveled and I swear there was some blood on his shirt. He didn't say anything though. Then yesterday at the police station O'Malley was talking to some guy and after the visitor left John accused O'Malley that he was giving out information about the investigation. As I mentioned they almost started a fight. I've known John for two years now and he's not like this…"

"Yeah, I know."

The door suddenly burst open and John stormed out without looking at his workmates. Sam and George looked after him stunned until Bailey urged them into the office.

"What happened?" asked Sam after they settled down.

"John says that this Doctor Conelly is a known pedophile and that we should immediately arrest him."

"Is he in the database?" asked George. "John gave me a list but I don't remember his name…"

"No, he isn't in the database. He was never charged with anything, he's a simple general practitioner, more over a retired one. John said that he knows him…"

"How?"

"He wasn't very coherent. You were right Sam, I shouldn't left him here alone."

"And what now?"

"I sent him home, he flies back to Atlanta tomorrow and he can be glad if he isn't suspended."

"And what about Conelly?"

"We will check on him of course but he doesn't seem to have any connection to the victims. But I need every information you can find about him, George."

"I'm on it, boss."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The ringing of the phone woke her from a slight slumber. Sam glimpsed at the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was just after midnight. She groaned and picked up the phone.

"Yeah…?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you Agent Waters… I'm Richard Winter, the night-porter."

"Is there a problem, Mr. Winter?" Sam asked and sat up on the bed.

"Yes, well, we could use your help in the bar, your partner, Agent Grant is here and…"

"I'm on my way" Sam cut in before the porter could finish the sentence.

The bar of the hotel was dark and almost empty, it was the middle of the week after all. John was sitting at the counter, his shoulders slumped and his face buried in his hands.

"Hey, John!" she put a hand on his shoulder but he didn't look up. "How much did he drink?" Sam asked the barkeeper.

"Not that much. Three glasses of whisky, I didn't think that it would cause any harm."

"It's okay, it's not your fault" Sam assured him and concentrated back on John. "Hey, don't you want to come to your room?" she asked gently.

The young agent looked up at last and laughed out bitterly.

"Am I this miserable?" he asked, the words coming out a little bit slurry.

"No, you're just drunk. Can you stand up?"

"Of course" but he didn't make a move to try it.

"Then why don't you?"

"Didn't I?"

"No, you didn't! Come on!" she grabbed his arm and helped him to stand up.

John leant on the counter with both hands and was swaying back and forth before he somehow found his balance.

"I'm fine" he said. "I didn't drink that much… I never drink much…"

"Yeah, sure, but you haven't slept much either, have you? And when was the last time you ate something?"

"I took a painkiller…" he mumbled.

"Great. I meant real food, John. And why did you take a painkiller? Did your shoulder hurt?" meanwhile she was ushering his out of the bar.

John stopped suddenly and leant his forehead against the wall.

"Yeah, that too…"

"You know that you can't drink on those pills, do you?"

"I forgot it…" he stumbled but than straightened up again and pushed himself away from the wall. "We can go now, I'm fine."

"You won't throw up on me, will you?"

"No, Miss…"

They easily managed to get to the elevator, in which John's face took a quite greenish color but he shut his eyes tightly and gulped deeply a few times and so fought the nausea. Sam studied him closely and decided that he looked absolutely miserable: the dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced than before, his shirt wasn't tucked into his trousers, his tie was loosened, his hair ruffled.

"We are here" she said when the lift stopped on the fifth floor.

"Great…" John groaned and stepped forward without opening his eyes.

They arrived at the door without further trouble.

"Where is your key?" Sam asked to which John just shrugged and started to slide down to the floor. "No, no, no… don't do this to me, John!"

She started to look after the key and found it in his pocket.

"All right! I'm opening the door, don't sit down!" John straightened instinctively to the authoritative tone.

When they were inside John simply collapsed on the bed. Sam gently caressed his forehead.

"Can I do anything for you?" she asked.

"I don't think so…"

"Then I'll leave you to rest. We can talk in the morning…"

His voice stopped her in the door.

"Sam?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry…"

She stepped back into the room. There was so much anguish in those simple words that she had to come back.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I disappointed you… I disappointed Bailey…" he was still lying on the bed and his eyes were closed but Sam guessed that he was more focused than a few moments ago.

"You didn't disappoint me, John" she pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down.

"I know, I did. I didn't want to get drunk… I just didn't want to feel…"

"What?"

"The anger… the pain…"

Sam took his hand in hers and squeezed it slightly.

"It's okay, John. Try to sleep…"

"I can't… I have to stay awake… stay guarded…" his words became more blurred by the moment.

"Why, John? Why can't you relax?"

"This city is suffocating me…" he mumbled very quietly.

"Don't worry. I'll stay here until you sleep in…" Sam whispered soothingly and she stayed and held his hand until his breathing evened out.

By the time though the inevitable dreams came she was sleeping in her own room.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John was confused and devastated anyway and meeting Conelly was the icing on the cake. He couldn't think rationally and honestly he didn't even want to. Conelly was a monster and John could have killed him with his bare hands for what he did to all those children. John simply knew that he was the one who murdered the boys and didn't understand how Bailey couldn't believe him.

He rushed back to the hotel after his argument with Bailey and closed himself in his room. When he calmed down a little bit he realized that he behaved like an idiot. He paced back and forth in the room for hours replaying not just the last hours but the last days too and then decided that he needed a drink.

He rarely drank, one or two beers occasionally but never hard drinks and the whisky quickly went to his head. The drinks didn't make the memories go away though. He didn't expect to see Conelly again but he recognized him immediately. And what would he be doing at the crime-scene if he didn't have anything to do with the murders? John didn't believe in such coincidences.

When he was at school it was an open secret that Conelly was a perverse. The children who were unfortunate enough to have him as a GP called him the Satan. The adults knew nothing about his passions and those who knew weren't too worried about it or didn't dare to intervene. Conelly was deeply ensnarled in the doings of the mobs, so everybody kept silent.

It wasn't a real surprise that during the night he dreamed about Conelly. The problem was that what he dreamed about wasn't just a dream but a memory.

_He was lying in the hospital bed, clutching the blanket so tightly that his fingers started to hurt. He didn't mind the pain because it helped him to stay awake despite the thick fog that the medicament left in him. He was more scared than anytime before in his life. It wasn't much to say because he was only eight but still…_

_Where he was now wasn't a real hospital: the bone in his shoulder – what was it's name? – collarbone or something broke and he also dislocated his shoulder. Of course it wasn't really him who did all these things but it his father but it wasn't something John really wanted to think about. The point of it was that it hurt like hell and his father decided to take him to a doctor. Unfortunately they didn't go to the hospital but to Doctor Conelly. _

_When he thought of the doctor he clutched the blanket even tighter. He feared him more than he feared his father which told a lot. John himself didn't experience any of the doctor's evil ways but he heard what the boys told about him and he also knew what happened to Joey Richardson. _

_Joey was twelve last year and one day he went up to the roof of the school and jumped down. He died two days later in the hospital. The adults didn't understand why he did it, but a group of children knew that he was also a patient of the satanic doctor. _

_John tried to think about something else and not Joey. In the darkness it was just too easy to imagine that the boy's angry ghost was wandering the corridors of Conelly's clinic. His thoughts wandered back to the afternoon instead. _

_To relocate his shoulder, the doctor gave him a very strong painkiller and a light sedative… or so he explained. John just felt that the world suddenly went blurry and his whole body turned numb. Then the doctor said that he should stay overnight because of the medication. He didn't want to but he wasn't asked and a look of his father told that he better should not begging. _

_So now he was here, fighting off sleep, because he knew that if he slept in something terrible would happen. Most children couldn't really tell what the doctor did, but it must have been really bad if it made Joey jump from the roof. _

_John wished his mom would have brought him because then maybe she wouldn't leave him here, at least not alone. But mom was sick again, closed herself in her room and didn't even know that John was hurt._

_Suddenly he felt that his eyes closed involuntary and shook his head to stay aware. But this was a fight he couldn't win and a few moments later he fell into a light sleep. _

_He woke up to some noise and his whole body tensed. He turned in his sleep and now his back was to the door but he knew that someone else was in the room. He didn't dare to move, he didn't even dare to breathe. _Pretend to be asleep, then he will go away! _He told himself. He tried to even out his breathing to sound as if he were still sleeping. _

_The bed was made for adults and John was small, so there was a lot of free space and suddenly the bed sagged under the weight of an adult. _

_John closed his eyes tightly but couldn't close his ears. He heard the sound of a zipper_ _and the doctor sighed quietly. Then there was another sound that John couldn't identify, it sounded like rubbing things together, but not too strongly. _

_Suddenly he felt a hand on his back and he kept himself in the last minute from jerking away. He couldn't show that he was awake! He didn't really know what was happening but he had a strong feeling that if the doctor found him awake he would do something worse than just touching his back. _

_The hand slowly moved in a caressing motion down to his hip and John practically stopped breathing. The man on the other hand was breathing quicker and quicker and than gave out a loud and rattling gasp and John felt something wet and warm on his back through the top of his pajamas…_

John woke up wheezing and bathing in cold sweat… Nothing _really_ bad happened on that night and he didn't even think about it anymore but it was still one of the worst memories of his childhood. The worst was that he had to go back to the doctor many times after this occasion.

He looked around a little bit confused, his mind was still confused and he felt the first waves of a really bad headache. Suddenly he realized that something other woke him up, not just the nightmare: the telephone was ringing.

"Grant!" he answered it hoarsely.

He listened to the caller and his clench on the receiver became tighter with every second.

"I see" he said simply and broke the connection.

He jumped up quickly and looked for some clothes before he realized that he was still wearing his shirt and trousers. So he just took his keys and left the room hurriedly.

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13


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: **I hope there's still somebody out there who remembers this story. I'm sorry I vansihed for so long but I had to clear some things in my private life, mostly emotionally and I couldn't concentrate on writing at all. To be honest, I couldn't concentrate on anything else, either. But I hope, it's over now... However I don't want to bother you with my problems so here's a new chapter for you reading pleasure! Read and enjoy and please review if you liked it!

Thanks!

**Chapter 6.**

John got out of the cab and stopped in front of the abandoned theater building. The effect of the alcohol was almost totally gone, only a slight headache reminded him of his previous drunken state. However he was still happy that he chose to take a taxi: his mind was full with thoughts and memories which occupied him too much to concentrate on driving at the moment.

He knew that he shouldn't let his memories and feelings get the better of him, but it didn't matter how hard he tried he couldn't do anything against the flood. So in the end he came to the conclusion that Bailey was absolutely right to send him home. Now, he wasn't angry anymore. At least not at his superior rather at himself that he let things so get out of control.

First of all, he shouldn't have freaked out about Conelly. Now, nobody would believe him… If he just could stop for a moment and explain everything he knew about the doctor, he was sure that Bailey would at least listen, and start an investigation about the man. Maybe he could still change that… get himself together and speak to Bailey… or maybe to Sam. But he was afraid that he was just about to get into another stupid situation…

In Boston, in the middle of the night, meeting someone who was working for his father, was something stupid for sure. But Karen was more than just someone from the past… Once she was very important to John. And when she called earlier she sounded frantic and desperate to meet him. She said that she wanted to get out and needed some help and John couldn't deny her a chance.

There was still the possibility of course that this was some kind of trap but he didn't want to believe that. He trusted Karen that much. Anyway, he unconsciously touched his weapon in its holster – and when he realized that movement he also realized that maybe a sparkle of distrust still was present.

Of course, if his father had wanted to kill him, he could have done so a million times already. And as a matter of fact John was partly amazed that after all these years he was still alive. Sometimes he thought that maybe O'Doyle wasn't totally out of fatherly emotions after all…

But he definitely wasn't here to mull on his father's feelings. The taxi disappeared around the corner moments ago and the street was empty now, so he stepped to the entrance of the theater and tried the handle. To his surprise it opened without a strain and he stepped into the foyer.

John had been here before, when he was a child and the theater still worked. He remembered some school performances and a few visits with his grandfather. In the foyer there was the cloak-room and the cashier's office. Left there was the entrance to the auditorium, and right – he remembered this from his grandfather's explanations – there was a long passageway with tiring rooms and storerooms.

The foyer was empty, almost gaunt and John had a feeling that there hadn't been anybody for years. Thick layer of dust covered the ground and he couldn't see any footprints. However it was quite dark so he couldn't be absolutely sure.

A banging noise suddenly cut into the silence. It was the noise of a gunshot, it couldn't be mistaken for anything else, and the noise came from the direction of the passageway. John pulled out his weapon without thinking and started in that direction.

He walked carefully, because deeper in the building it was even darker than in the foyer. But he didn't have to search for long because in the darkness a slight beam of light could be seen from one of the rooms.

Holding the weapon in front of himself he stepped into the room. He looked around, ready to fire at any suspicious movement but there was nothing. Nothing if you didn't count the body of a man lying on the ground and the flashlight next to him… and the gun in the distant corner.

The body was lying face down, and John kneeled down to check his pulse without turning his eyes at him. He was fixated on the other door opening on the opposite wall. The murderer – as he could find no pulse and even from the corner of his eyes he could see that the man was shot in the back of his head and that the shot wound had to be fatal – had to escape through that door.

Without hesitation he decided to check out the other side. When he stepped through the door he found himself on another corridor that after a few meters turned left. He was listening for a while and he could clearly make out quiet footsteps and some whispering. Cautiously he sneaked to the corner and then – prepared to jump back if needed – stepped around it… and then found himself face to face with the beam of a flashlight and two cops who were both pointing their guns at him.

"Police! Drop the weapon!" one of them ordered.

John – knowing the protocol and that he would have time to explain himself later – did as he was told. He dropped the weapon and raised both his hands in the air. One of the police officers lowered his gun and stepped closer but the other one still targeted him.

"Step to the wall!"

"I'm with the FBI" John said but did as he was told.

"Do you have on ID with you?"

He wanted to answer that it was in his pocket but then suddenly realized that he didn't bring it. It was on the nightstand in the motel-room together with his cellphone.

"I don't have it with me right now."

"Of course…" the officer with the gun said sarcastically.

"Then just stay put while I'm searching you."

Meanwhile new voices could be heard from the direction John came from and a few seconds later two other officers showed up.

"We found a body in one of the rooms" the younger one said.

"Did you see anybody else?" the one searching John, who was clearly the ranking one asked back.

"No, we didn't."

"He's clear. Stevens, go out and call the crime scene investigators and the homicide division."

"I'm on my way."

John listened to the conversation silently until the attention turned back to him.

"So, you tell me that you're an FBI agent? What's your name?" the officer sounded a little bit uncertain.

"John Grant. I work for VCTF, Atlanta Office."

"If it's true then I think you will understand that I have to keep you in custody until your identity is confirmed and the situation is cleared. Lower your arms, but slowly!"

John heard the clicking of the handcuffs and then felt them around his wrists. The last time he was cuffed was during his training in Quantico and he even then he found it quite disturbing.

"Dan, take him to the car until the detectives arrive."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

John was watching from the backseat of the police car as first the CSI people and then some other patrols arrived, together with some plain-clothes detectives. He watched the turmoil and thought about the situation at hand.

He came to the conclusion that this had to be some kind of trap after all. But do they want to blame a murder on him or what? It sounded like quite a complicated plan but wasn't too farfetched. John was sure that his father would find it quite amusing and ironic if his traitor son ended up in prison. But could he really organize something like this believably?

It took quite a while until someone came for him. The clock on dashboard showed 5:23 a.m. and it was almost daylight by the time a detective stepped to the car and opened the door.

"Get out please, I'd like to have a word with you!"

The detective was in his early forties, heavily built and clearly after a long night: he looked exhausted, his jacket was wrinkled, his tie amiss.

"One of the local detectives confirmed your identity. John Grant, right?"

John nodded. The detective didn't sound too friendly and he showed no indication of wanting to take off the handcuffs.

"I'm Detective Benett. Considering what I've learned until now I have to tell you that being an FBI agent doesn't change much on your situation. I suppose you know all this stuff but rule is rule, so… You have the right to remain silent. If you choose to give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at government expense."

"Are you arresting me?" John asked not that much surprised.

"Exactly."

"And why do you think I would have killed somebody I didn't even know?"

"Detective O'Malley, who confirmed your identity, says that you knew the victim. Moreover he told me that you had a quite heated argument with Doctor Conelly only a few days ago."

John suddenly felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He didn't examine the body, didn't even take a look at his face. He had no idea that it was Conelly. Benett didn't notice his stunned expression, he continued talking in a monotone tone.

"The patrol will take you to the station and I inform the local FBI office and ask if they want to step in the investigation."

John didn't even listen to the last part.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Only half an hour later John was seated in an interrogation room, still in the handcuffs. The exhaustion he had felt in the last days left him for a short time - thanks probably to his increased adrenaline level - but it was slowly coming back. He was developing a massive headache and his shoulder throbbed because of the uncomfortable position. By the time Benett arrived another twenty minutes went by. There was a clock on the opposite wall and John could follow every passing minute. Benett wasn't alone though, another forty-something man was with him, a shorter, thin man in black suit.

"This is Agent Fuller" Benett started. "The interrogation will be recorded. Do you wish a lawyer to be present?"

"No, thanks. Not yet. But did you inform my superior, Agent Malone?"

"We will inform him in due time, you don't have to worry about it" Agent Fuller answered rather affably. "Do you wish to make a confession?"

"I don't have anything to confess."

"I see. Then you wouldn't mind if I ask a few questions, would you?"

"No."

"What were you doing in the middle of the night in a closed theater?"

"An old acquaintance called me and asked me for help. This person asked me to meet there."

"Wouldn't it be a strange place to meet?"

"There was a reason. It wouldn't be fortunate if somebody saw us together."

"And this acquaintance was Doctor Conelly by chance?"

"No way."

"Then who was it?"

John hesitated for a second before answering.

"A woman, named Karen Morgan."

"And you met her?"

"No."

"Why?"

"She didn't come."

"So, she didn't come" the agent repeated. It was obviously a common tactic for him to repeat the answers. "Then can you tell me, what had happened, instead?"

"I went inside and waited in the foyer. Then I heard a shot and searched for its origin, found the body, then the patrols came."

"Not much." Fuller was walking back and forth in front of John. It was quite unnerving, actually. "And you didn't see anybody else, did you?"

"No."

"I see."

Benett who until now stood next to the wall silently, stepped forward.

"But you admit that you knew the victim?"

"Yes. I've known him from earlier."

"You have a few old friends in this town, don't you?" Agent Fuller put in and there was something in his voice that made John suspicious but he didn't say anything to it, only waited for more. But the agent didn't go on.

"All right" Benett said instead. "This Karen Morgan, you mentioned. Do you know where we can find her?"

"She works in a restaurant, called Veritas. I don't know her home address."

"And she called you in the motel where you stay?"

"Yes, she did."

"Detective, could you check this out, please?"

"Of course" with that Benett left the two FBI agents alone.

"Veritas…" Fuller mumbled thoughtfully. "Isn't that a favored meeting place for influential incriminated personas?"

"If you say so."

"Why are you in Boston?" Fuller changed the subject suddenly.

"Because of a job. The VCTF investigates some murders that have happened recently."

"Did you work here before this case?"

"No."

"Then how comes you know so many people here?"

"I don't think two is actually, so many" John said. He didn't really like where this was going.

"Where did you know the victim from, then?"

"He… he was a doctor. He treated me a few times when I was a child."

"So, this means that you lived here in Boston, when you were a child?"

"Yes."

"When was the last time you met him?"

"Yesterday, at a crime scene."

"That was when you attacked him, wasn't it? Detective O'Malley told me about it."

"I didn't exactly attack him."

"Oh, I saw a record of it from the local news. It looked quite like an attack to me."

John didn't say anything to that, instead he tried to move his arms in a more comfortable position.

"Don't you have anything to say about it?"

"You didn't ask anything" he answered.

"Oh, right. So, why did you attack the good doctor?"

"I had suspicions about him being involved in the murders we are investigating here."

"Really, and why would that be?"

"Conelly abused more patients of his… sexually. Mostly young boys. The murder victims were teenage boys who were raped before they were killed. I didn't think that it was a coincidence that he was at the crime scene."

"Was he ever charged or arrested for sexual abuse?"

"Not that I know" John admitted.

"Then how do you know he did such things?" Fuller's voice was almost mocking.

John had a feeling that the agent knew more than he let on or had some hidden cards up in his sleeve but he didn't know what it could be.

"I just know…" he knew that this was the wrong answer as soon as it came out. It was almost childish.

"Maybe he abused _you_, when you were his patient?"

"No."

_Too quick, too defensive!_ He chided himself and saw the slight smile on Fuller's face confirm this.

"Hmm… I see. It must have been very traumatic to see him again" the agent said as if John had actually answered 'yes' to his former question.

John clamped his jaw and just glared at Fuller without saying anything more.

"Well… I've asked for some files from the bureau, they must be here by now. I'll leave you for a while if you don't mind but we'll continue soon" and he started to leave.

"Agent Fuller!" John stopped him. "Couldn't you take off the handcuffs, maybe?" he hated to ask but the uncomfortable feeling in his shoulder turned into a sharp pain by now.

"Oh, I'm sorry but I don't think so. You're a federal agent after all, trained thoroughly. I wouldn't want to risk an escape" he said with a sickeningly nice smile. "Just think about things while I'm gone, all right?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Fuller came back exactly forty-two minutes later with a thick file and a cocky smile. He seemed to be very satisfied which nerved John quite a bit. He sat down on the opposite side of the table and put down the folder in front of himself.

"Well, Agent Grant! If you don't mind I'd like to sketch you the situation as _I_ see it. You came to Boston on a job, investigating some really brutal and disturbing murder cases. At one of the crime scenes you met Doctor Conelly who you knew from your childhood and who - in your opinion - was a pedophile. I assume, that you base this opinion on personal experiences. Meeting him again shocked you, you were disturbed, couldn't sleep, couldn't think straight. You wanted revenge in some way. When your superiors didn't listen to you, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You know, we found out that the weapon that was used to kill the doctor was stolen from the evidence store of the police station of District four. So I guess – and the reports confirm this – that you went into the storage room and took that weapon. Then with some excuse, you lurked the doctor to the theater and killed him. Unfortunately, somebody saw you go in and called the police that's why you ran into the patrols when you wanted to leave. Then, you thought up this story about meeting some mysterious woman there but you forgot that the motels register every incoming phone-calls. So, all in all, we have enough evidence for every jury even without your confession, but _if you want to confess_, I'm eager to listen. And I think if you tell about your traumatizing past story with the good doctor then the jury will be very sympatethic and you can come out with only ten years of imprisonment or so. What do you tell?"

John listened to the long triad carefully and realized a lot of things. First of all they really had a lot of evidence against him. And what was this about the telephone-call? Of course, he knew that the hotels registered the incoming calls, but Karen _really_ called him, so somebody must have manipulated that list. And calling her mysterious, clearly meant that they didn't find her and couldn't talk to her. The most disturbing thing though was _the way _Fuller spoke. He had something on his mind, John was sure of that.

"I didn't kill anybody" he said at last and then went quiet again.

"All right" Fuller said almost cheerfully. "I suppose the homicide is still clear as lightning, the office of the district attorney is already working on the charges. Now we can at last turn to other, more important issues."

"What issues are you talking about?"

"About your involvement with specific organized crime groups" Fuller declared.

"What?"

"Don't be so surprised. Or did I forget to mention that organized crime is my main specialty?"

John just looked at him rather stunned. _What the hell was going on here? _

"This here" Fuller said, putting a hand on the folder, "is your file. Didn't you know that the organized crime division checked you out every once in a while?"

John involuntary tensed. What did he mean by _checked out_? But he didn't say a word.

"Anyway, I have an offer for you."

As John still sat quietly he continued:

"A homicide is of course a serious crime but the FBI has more pressing priorities, if you know what I mean. To be clear on this: in case you help us arresting the leaders of the Winter Hill Gang, every charge against you will be dropped and you can go back to your life… not as an agent of course, but I don't think that would be a problem."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Let's not play games here, Mr. _O'Doyle_!" Fuller said in a less amused voice.

John cringed first at hearing the name the agent used, but then straightened on his seat as far as the handcuffs let him and answered fiercely.

"My name's Grant and not O'Doyle!"

"Oh, of course. But we both know that this wasn't always like this, don't we? It's common knowledge that most organized crime groups like to have their own people in law enforcement. Your father is a clever man, _Mr. Grant!" _he punctuated the name with a sarcastic smile. "Why not use his own son, whose loyalty is grounded on blood?"

John counted to ten in his head before he answered because honestly he was on the verge of losing his self-control.

"I am _not _working for the mob" he said simply instead of _shouting_ which was what he _wanted_ to do.

"When was the last time you met your father?" Fuller asked paying no attention to his answer.

"Four days ago, when with two other agents we visited one of his restaurants."

"And before that?"

"When I was seventeen."

"Really?"

"Yes!"

"Between 1987 and 1991 you lived in New York. Is that correct?"

"Yes, it is."

"You went to college there and worked for NYPD as a patrol officer, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you know that in those four years Patrick O'Doyle visited New York approximately 12 times?"

"No, I didn't know that."

"So, you didn't meet him while you were living there?"

"No, I didn't" John tried to answer as calmly as he could. He knew that Fuller wanted him to lose his head but he wasn't ready to give the man that satisfaction.

"Okay. And what about James Flaherty?"

"What about him?"

"Have you met him recently?"

"No, I haven't."

"But you know who he is, right?"

"Yes, my father's lawyer."

"He's a little bit more than that, John" Fuller said mockingly. Of course John knew that but it wasn't exactly something he would have liked to talk about. "He's Patrick O'Doyle's best friend, right-hand man if you wish. And if I'm correct he's also your godfather" then he trailed off and looked at John expectantly.

"Was this a question?" John asked.

"Oh, not really. You know we've been keeping a track of his journeys too. Since 1991 he regularly visited Atlanta."

"And?"

"_And?_ Don't you think that this is just a little bit suspicious? Why would he go there, if not to meet with a mole? He hasn't been there before that year, the exact year you moved there!"

"I'm telling you again: I do not work for my father. I don't know what the hell Flaherty did in Atlanta but sure as hell did not meet me. Not once!"

Fuller stood up and leaned forward.

"Let's make my intentions clear, Mr. O'Doyle. I want a confession! I want to know everything about your father's businesses, about the people he meets, about those who he corrupted. Everything!" he said punctuating every single word but not raising his voice at all.

John also leaned a little bit forward and they were face to face now, their noses almost touching.

"When I was 17 I told everything I knew about him, but people like you weren't able to handle the evidences correctly and he got away! Since then I do not know anything about him or his businesses!"

Suddenly, Fuller hit the table with his fisted left hand.

"I tried to be nice to you, O'Doyle" he said in a much harsher tone than before, "but you don't seem to appreciate it. I want your confession or I swear I make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison…"

"You can threaten me as hard as you want but I can't confess something I didn't commit! And don't call me O'Doyle ever again, my name's Grant!" finishing, John slumped back onto the chair.

Fuller took a deep breath and sat back down too.

"Never mind" he said more calmly, leaning back in his seat. "We have a lot of time to work on this and I'm not one to give up easily."

John took a deep breath and also leaned back a little bit.

"You know what? Me neither…"

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	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

AN: I don't know if there's anybody out there who remembers this story but I'm totally devoted to finish it even if I spend ridiculously long time between updates. And now I found out that Profiler's first season comes out on DVD this months so that probably will give me some more inspiration. But I won't give any promises again… Anyway, I'm working on the story (and a few others as well…) but I don't have so much time, unfortunately. Just to give you some hope, the last chapter is practically ready… on the low side there are at least three more chapters between this one and the last one, and those are far from ready, however if you know your destination it's much easier to get there… if you know what I mean.

About this chapter: it's not that much happening but you could call it an important filling chapter, but I hope you'll enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

And after the longest author's note, ever here's chapter seven:

Chapter 7.

Saying that Sam was stunned was probably the understatement of the year.

They found out only about thirty minutes ago that John was arrested the night before and that he was charged with first degree homicide of all things. She wouldn't say that she knew the younger agent very well – after all she found out only a few days ago that he wasn't born with the family name he was wearing now – but she simply knew that he wouldn't have killed anybody in cold blood. It was her job after all to identify killers and though she could tell that John had a lot of baggage, he was definitely not the psycho kind.

Bailey wasn't taking the turns of events well, either. At the moment he was raging because the murder charge wasn't enough: the case belonged to the Organized Crime Department and they were talking also about information leaking and racketeering. If all this were true then they didn't know John at all. And above all these they were denied the details. They weren't even allowed to see John until now.

At the moment Bailey tried to get some more information but he hit walls at every corner. The agent in charge – someone named Fuller – obviously had good connections. He probably wouldn't even notified them if not for the fact that he wanted to interview them too. They were simply told – or more precisely ordered – to wait here until further instruction. So now all four of them sat in their usual office and waited, throwing nervous glances at eachother and at Bailey who was talking on his cell, gesticulating and pacing madly.

Sam didn't really listen to the one-sided conversation she only occasionally raised her head when Bailey's voice increased in decibel.

"I can't believe this!" Bailey declared suddenly throwing the totally innocent cell against the table so hard that it cracked loudly.

"Have you found out anything?" Grace asked.

"Not much… but they've been definitely monitoring John for a long time and they seem to have solid proofs against him. Fuller at least is totally confident in his case."

"But you don't really…" Grace's question was cut short by a knock on the door.

The knock however was only a formality because without waiting for an answer the aforementioned Agent Fuller walked into the room as if he owned it.

"Sorry, that you had to wait this long" he began without any real regret. "As you all probably know by now Agent Grant was arrested for the murder of a Mark Connelly. I'm Special Agent Fuller and I'm leading this investigation. I'd like to talk to all of you. As you're leading agent, Agent Malone I'd like to start with you. If you would please follow me…"

"Of course" Bailey's voice was polite but as cold as Sam has ever heard it.

After the two men left the three remaining members of the VCTF looked at eachother.

"I can't believe this is happening…" George said quietly and looked at Sam as if he expected the solution from her. "Do you think that John really killed that guy?"

"Can you imagine that about him?" Grace asked back.

The computer specialist shrugged indecisively.

"I like John, I really do… but he's not been himself lately. That Connelly guy really pissed him off and you didn't see him that night when those two guys waited for him at the motel. He looked… I don't know… angry, dangerous even."

"What exactly happened that time?" Sam asked because George didn't really go into details when they talked about this before.

"Well, as I told you, we went back to the motel really late and those two guys – both as tall and wide as two gorillas – were waiting in the hall. The moment we stepped inside they stood and came at our way. John really tensed up then and told me to go to the room because he had to talk to these people. It seemed that he knew them and one of them called him Johnny. I don't know what happened after that because they went out but I stayed there and I saw when John came back… and he was disheveled and bloody. I asked him if he was all right and that who those men were but he just grumbled something and rushed up to his room."

"Strange…" Grace said.

"You didn't notice anything?" Sam asked the coroner.

She frowned and shrugged.

"I spent most of my time in the morgue, didn't even really see John that much. But why would they think that he works for the mob or what, is beyond me" the coroner said.

"Because of his father" Sam said. She knew that now the identity of John's father would come to light eventually and it's maybe better if Grace and George know it before Fuller starts their interrogation.

"What are you talking about?" Grace asked.

"I thought his father was dead…" George said at the same time.

"Did he tell you that?" Sam looked at the computer specialist perplexed.

"No… not really. He just never talks about parents and once he mentioned that his mother died in a car accident and I just assumed that his father died too."

"No, he didn't" Sam said. "John's father lives here in Boston and is some kind of leader in the Walter Hill Gang or what's its name."

"Are you serious?" Grace asked stunned.

Sam nodded.

"His name's Patrick O'Doyle."

"_That_ O'Doyle?" George asked and Sam remembered that he made a deep data check on the man.

"I guess so. What do you know about him?"

"Well… he is a big dog that's for sure. He started out in the lower ranks, then became a loanshark but rumor says that he was a favorite and protégée of Whitey Bulger and Bulger is still on the FBI's most wanted list. He's definitely in the high ranks maybe the second or third man in the Walter Hill Gang and that organization is into everything illegal in this part of the country. He was put to trial twice but was never convicted for anything, however both the local police and the FBI investigated him plenty of times. Nowadays he has several legal investments…"

"Like the restaurant we went to" Sam put in.

"Yeah that too. Did you meet him?"

"Unfortunately, we did."

"Do you think that John really has worked for him all this time?" Grace asked hesitantly.

"No" on that question Sam was absolutely sure. When she really thought about it, she could imagine that John would kill someone, maybe in self-defense or something like that and he was really freaked out about Connelly. But you can't fake the tension and pain that Sam saw when John met his father. She wanted to add something else but in that moment Bailey returned, his jaw clenched and a blood-vessel visibly pumping on his forehead and he looked so angry that nobody dared to ask anything.

"Sam, you're next… Fuller awaits you in the captain's office!" he said through clenched teeth before he collapsed into one of the free chairs.

XXXXXX

Sam walked into the office knowing that she wouldn't like this conversation the least bit. She met Fuller only for seconds but the man was as irritating as one could get.

"Take a seat, Agent Waters" Fuller started in his sweetest tone. He was a tall man but rather bony, he must have been in his late forties and could have been called handsome if only there were a little less arrogance in his facial expression.

He was sitting behind the captain's desk and Sam took the offered chair on the other side.

"So" he started turning pages in the thick file in front of him, "you've been working with Agent Grant for half a year, correct?"

"Five and a half months to be precise."

"Yeah, right, sorry. What's your opinion about him?"

"He's a good agent. Very dedicated. It's good to work with him."

"And in private life?"

"I don't know him that well."

"Have you ever met any friends of him, or girlfriends maybe?"

"No."

"Do you know what he does in his free time?"

"No, I don't."

"Have you been at his home?"

"No."

"Do you think that he deliberately kept you away from his life outside the office? Didn't you find this suspicious?"

"Not at all. I think he's a private person."

When she first met John Grant, Sam wouldn't have thought of labeling him as private, now though she thought differently. John wore the mask of a lady's man, seemed to be outgoing on the surface but Sam guessed that there were very few people – if there were any at all – who he really let in.

"Has he ever talked about his past?"

"Some."

"So did you know who his father was?"

"I knew that he wasn't on good terms with his father and that he changed his name" Fuller didn't need to know that she found out all this _after_ they arrived here in Boston. "But I didn't know who John's father was."

"So he didn't tell you that his father is a criminal."

"No. But he never lied about it, either. It just never came up and I don't know much about organized crime anyway."

"When did you see him last?"

"Last night, around midnight."

"Where?"

"In the motel."

"Really Agent Waters! You know that withholding information in an ongoing investigation is a crime, don't you?"

Sam didn't want to put John in a bad light and she knew that what happened last night could be just as easily been used against him, but she also knew that lying about what happened could be just as dangerous.

"I'm not keeping any information, I was answering all your questions. If you want a detailed description of the happenings, you should just ask" she said as politely as possible.

"Yes, Doctor Waters, I'd really like a detailed version of this meeting of yours" Fuller said sweetly.

"John was drinking some and the barkeeper in the motel asked me to see him to his room."

"Was he drunk?"

"Well, due to the barkeeper he drank only three glasses of whiskey. But he also took a painkiller and he was a little bit… confused."

"I see. And you left him in his room alone?"

"Yes, we talked some but then he slept in and I left."

"When was this exactly?"

"I'm not absolutely sure, but I was in my room by half past twelve, that much I know."

"All right" he wrote down something in his notebook. "I think that's all. If I have any more questions I'll find you" Fuller dismissed her without further pleasentries, but Sam had some questions of her own.

"Can I see John in the near future?"

"You've just said that you don't know him that well. Why would you want to see him?"

"He's my workmate and I don't believe any of these charges…"

"So, you know what all he's charged with?" Fuller asked.

"More or less."

Fuller watched her for a few seconds thoughtfully but Sam didn't let the intensive stare intimidate her.

"Well, if you insist… my partner is still interrogating him but I'll let you know when you can meet him. Would you send Agent Alvarez in, please?"

XXXXX

Sam went back to their proclaimed office and told Grace that it was her turn. She was fuming and Grace threw a questioning look at her before she left, to which Sam just shook her head. She didn't know what to think about the situation. Fuller seemed absolutely sure, he didn't even ask real questions, and probably he didn't even think that Sam could provide any useful information.

Bailey was still sitting in the chair where Sam has last seen him but when she came in he at least looked up. He looked … confused, and that was so unlike him that Sam immediately put a hand on his shoulder.

"We will figure this out" she said.

"You think?"

"Sure. We are one of the most successful special department of the FBI, after all" she declared with a slight smile.

"Yeah, I just hope we don't figure out something we don't want to know" Bailey answered quietly.

"You can't really believe…"

"That John works for his father? No, I don't. But… Connelly is a totally different case… I've never seen John like this. I've been working with him for almost two years now and he can be hotheaded and go up against suspects but it's mostly an act… but with Connelly on the street yesterday… he totally lost it."

"We have to talk to him before we make any assumptions" Sam warned her boss.

"Yeah, I know. Did Fuller tell you anything about that?"

"Yes. He said his partner was still interrogating John and that he will allow us to meet him in a few hours."

In the end it turned into more than just a few hours. It was well past lunchtime when Fuller appeared again and led Sam and Bailey into a different part of the police station.

"I'll let you talk to him but everything will be recorded in there" he warned before he opened the door.

The room they were let into was a regular interrogation room, just as Sam suspected. It was empty except for the two chairs and one table in the middle. One of the chairs was occupied by John and Sam's heart constricted when she had her first glance at his young workmate. He sat with his hands cuffed behind his back, his shoulders slumped and head bowed. However when he heard somebody enter he straightened and looked up. When he saw that it wasn't Fuller who came in, the ready-to-fight, defiant look turned into an almost desperate one, but also that vanished quickly and his eyes became guarded.

"Hey, John" Sam said.

His eyes turned from Sam to Bailey and instead of a formal greeting he quietly said:

"I didn't do it."

The need to be believed in, was plain in his voice.

"I know" Bailey said simply and Sam could see as the rocks fell from the younger man's shoulders. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"After you left me in my room" he started, looking at Sam, to which Bailey threw a surprised look at her but she just shook her head indicating that she would explain later, "Karen Morgan called me. She wanted to meet me… She said that she wanted to get out. That she needed some help."

"And you went to meet her" Bailey put in when John trailed off.

"Yes, she was… important to me once" he said but Sam was sure that first he wanted to tell something else. "She wanted to meet in the closed Harrisburg theater. I was waiting for her in the foyer when I heard the shots, followed the noise and found the body. I didn't even know it was Connelly until that detective told me. The patrols arrived almost immediately. And I was arrested."

"So, Karen never showed up?"

He just shook his head.

"Fuller said they couldn't even find her… that nobody knows where she is…" he said then after a short silence.

"You sure, it was her who called?"

John nodded and Sam saw that this hurt.

"I think I need a lawyer" John said then suddenly. "You think Nathan knows somebody who would take a hopeless case?" he added with a half-smile.

"This isn't funny and your case isn't hopeless" Bailey declared strictly.

John just shrugged. Sam didn't like what he saw in him. He seemed distant, as if his thoughts weren't totally focused on the situation at hand, as if he had already given up.

"You think, your father is behind this?" she asked.

John's eyes turned dark at the mention of his father.

"I'm sure he is. This would be like him. But I don't understand why to take all this trouble? Why not simply let his goons shoot me or beat me to shit in an alley?"

"You think your own father would want to kill you?" Sam asked without trying to show too much doubt.

"What do you think will happen to me in prison? As soon as somebody finds out I used be a federal agent, I'm as good as dead" Sam liked the matter-of-fact way John told this even less than what she saw before and obviously Bailey felt the same way.

"You didn't _use to be_ a federal agent, _you are one_, John and you won't end up in prison!" he said forcefully.

John just raised his eyebrows in an 'are-you-so-sure-about-that?' gesture.

"And now Fuller insists that I work for the man. I suppose you could call this irony…"

"All right" Bailey rubbed at his chin. "Do you have any suggestions?"

John shrugged and then winced painfully. Sam realized that if he was sitting like this – cuffed, on an uncomfortable plastic chair – the position must have put a lot of strain on his recently injured shoulder.

"Why are you still in handcuffs?" she asked when it seemed that John wouldn't answer anyway.

"Fuller thinks I plan to escape and take a flight to Tahiti or something…" he mumbled.

At least there was some sarcasm and Sam was happy even about that because until now… John looked hopeless. He looked up then, more focused than before.

"You should search for Karen. I'm sure she knows what really happened."

"And would she talk to us?"

"If she wouldn't she would be still around."

"What do you mean?" Bailey asked.

"She's either dead because my…" he grimaced and changed his phrasing. "O'Doyle didn't trust her, or she left because she knew that she would be killed. If she would be loyal she would be here and tell what my father told her to."

That was when Fuller opened the door and pointed at his watch. Bailey rolled his eyes at him but made no other objections.

"It will be okay, John" he said and put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We will figure this out."

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	8. Chapter 8

AN: Here's next chapter! I think much quicker then the previous ones and it's also much longer I might add (twenty pages in Word, and that seems to be a record to me…). In the beginning I thought that this story would be about ten chapters but now I don't think I can finish it in just two more chapters, so I don't really know anymore.

Read and enjoy! And if you have any opinion about it please review because it would certainly improve my inspiration. (It would be really good to know how many people actually read this story… )

Chapter 8.

There were only five holding cells at the police station, in the basement. John knew the layout as he spent a lot of time in the building while he was still working on the case that brought them to Boston. It seemed as if that was a lifetime ago.

John was pacing in the small cell, then when he ended up at the door he pushed his forehead against the bars to see the clock on the opposite side of the corridor. His watch, just like any other personal possession was taken away when he was arrested. It was only 6 a.m. and he has been up for two hours already. Today was the day of his court-hearing. It will be decided whether the court accepts the DA's charges and whether John would be released or kept in custody.

His lawyer – and well wasn't it funny that he had a lawyer now? – visited him yesterday and she talked about strategies. John tried to listen to her, even made some comments occasionally but he didn't really think that any strategy would help him to get out of this. The lawyer was a no-nonsense and quite frightening woman in his late fifties, Amanda Barnes, an old professor of Nathan. She asked a lot of questions but John couldn't decide whether she believed him or not when he answered them. The only thing they absolutely agreed upon was that there was not a big chance on getting him out of custody soon. In the end Fuller didn't push any charges in connection with organized crime but the investigation still went on and the evidence in the murder case was solid.

And John was alone in this. He often felt lonely but most times he handled that easily. But this time it was different. Even the team had to leave yesterday, ordered back by the assistant director, their direct superior. Bailey was allowed to visit him again but only for enough time to tell these news and say a quick good-by. However he promised again to clear things up but John knew that the VCTF wouldn't be allowed in on the case. Fuller was just happy to enlighten him about this fact.

But at the moment John didn't want to think about Fuller. The man was obnoxious and irritating like hell. He only stopped interrogating him the afternoon before (after two whole days with only a few hours rest). Since then John was in the cell, even his lawyer visited him here. And the cell felt extremely small by now. _What will I do if I get a life-sentence? _he mused. Of course a life sentence would be not very long for him…

After taking another look at the clock he went back to pacing. The hearing was scheduled for ten a.m. but the hands of the clock seemed to dragging by. By the time the guards came for him, John felt on edge and almost dizzy from pacing too much back and forth in the small space.

"Step back from the door!" one of the officers ordered from the corridor.

John obeyed of course and even held out his arms to be handcuffed again. Sadly, being restrained turned into a routine very quickly. This time he got real chains though: not just handcuffs but also ankle-cuffs and those two were connected with a long chain. It wasn't really easy to walk like that and he felt particularly vulnerable because of that. He never liked to be out of control and this was the most out-of-control situation he faced during his adult life. It reminded him of his childhood, but he didn't want to go there right now, if ever.

John was escorted to the courthouse in a patrol car and when they arrived and he was led in the building his lawyer was already waiting for him and the officers let them sit down on the bench in front of t he courtroom for a quick consult, but they didn't took off the chains. It was standard procedure to only release the suspect inside the courtroom.

"I'm sure you know how these things go" Amanda (she insisted that John used her firstnama…) started. "The guy from the DA's office will states the charges and will ask for imprisonment until trial. The judge will ask you if you understood the charges and ask if you plead guilty or not, then we will ask for release and bail out. Then the judge makes the decision which I'm sure won't take long. They will only press charges for murder right now but the judge will know that there is still an ongoing investigation concerning your organized crime connections. Any questions?"

John just shook his head. He knew this of course as he has been to plenty court-hearings and trials. But this reminded him of something else, something that he didn't want to remember. However it seemed that his unwanted memories were on a rampage…

_He looked left and right on the corridor and had no idea which direction he should take as he has never been to a court__-house before. He was scared shitless and still had doubts about his decision but it was probably late to get out now. Then he glimpsed assistant district attorney Wilkinson at the end of the corridor waving at him. The man was in his early thirties and was really nice and compassionate towards John during this whole ordeal. John probably would have quit without his help weeks ago. _

_John was an introvert by nature (or by nurture, who knows?) and all these questionings made him defensive, and jittery. There were questions from the police department, then the FBI, then the district attorney's office and then from the psychologist that the court ordered to evaluate him. They didn't just ask about what he knew about his father's business (especially the psychologist) but about their home-life, about his mother and other things he didn't want to talk about. Then there were the phone-calls and the written message on his motel-room door… and after that one, the security measures Wilkinson had taken. It meant that he was tailed all the time and there was constantly someone watching him, which was a drastic turn to being completely alone in the last four months. _

"_You ready, John?" Wilkinson asked when John at last managed to get through the crowd to the man's side._

"_Yes." _

_Actually he wasn't. He was only seventeen He has just run through the half continent alone to get away from his father, found out that somebody died because of him and now was only moments from facing his father again and… well, betray him (there was no other word for that, even if he knew that it was the right thing to do). So he wasn't ready at all. But he never will be so what's the point telling that?_

"_All right, then. You will be the first witness to be called in. First I ask the questions we had gone through before then your father's lawyer will ask his questions. I'm sure he will want to get personal and make you seem like some insolent brat but just answer everything truthfully. It will surely take a long time and they might call you back for a second day…"_

_He stopped hearing what Wilkinson was saying and his blood went cold when he saw his father walk in like he owned the world despite the fact that he was under home-arrest for very serious charges. Jimmy Flaherty – his lawyer, best friend and John's godfather - was there by his side._

_Patrick O'Doyle glimpsed his son too and their eyes locked for a long moment and John's heart skipped a beat. He felt the urge to turn away and run out of the building or to start crying – he couldn't really decide, which, really. But in the end he did neither of those. He felt as if he were frozen to the spot, like a frightened rabbit in the spotlight of a car coming at him with lightning speed. _

_Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder and he jerked, a shiver running down his spine. But it was only Wilkinson of course and the touch managed to bring him out of his trans. _

"_It will be all right, son" Wilkinson tried to calm him but John knew with dead certainty that nothing will be all right ever again…_

He flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder in reality too. It seemed as if he were pulled in the past physically. But of course, he wasn't. It was just Amanda.

"It's time, John" she said and the two guards were already urging him to get up.

It was a real relief to get rid of the chains when they stepped into the room and move freely again even if it was only temporary.

The hearing went just as Amanda explained earlier and just as any other court-hearing John has ever attended. He didn't really listen to the things that were said, he just answered with a "yes" and then a "no" when he was asked. In no time the judge declared a pause and that he would call them again when a decision was made. The officers came forward again and put back the cuffs and they waited about twenty more minutes in the corridor again. Amanda was buried in some file of hers, the officers had a conversation about something but John didn't really hear them, he was just sitting there and totally elsewhere in thoughts. Again. It started to turn into a bad habit, he realized but he couldn't do anything against it.

_He was tired. More tired than anytime before in his life. It seemed to him that the trial was going for days, but it couldn't be of course because nobody seemed to want to go home yet, except John, of course. _

_There was no real problem at first. Wilkinson asked his questions and he was mindful enough to stand in front of John so, that his father was hidden by him. And then came Jim. John has known him since he could remember but what was worse the man knew him too. He positioned himself quite differently than Wilkinson and John could feel his father's eyes on him, burning him like real fire. John tried to not look at the man but it was hard and it was also hard to get his thoughts under control. _

_Jim just asked and asked and John tried to answer every question to his best knowledge but he felt he was screwing things up royally. His hands trembled and he was sweating as if he were in a sauna. _

_And then it was over. The judge said they would continue tomorrow at nine and that he was allowed to go now. For a moment John just looked at the judge incomprehending so the elderly man repeated again that he could go. When he stood up his legs felt like jelly and he felt more lie stumbling than walking. And he had to walk by the defendant's bench. _

"_You know that this is a futile attempt, don't you?" _

_John simply had to turn at that voice. It was ingrained in him to listen when his father spoke. Patrick O'Doyle was actually smiling at him but it was not a kind smile._

"_You're my son. You can't get away from me."_

_John knew enough to recognize a threat when he heard one. And his father wasn't a man of empty threats. He felt cold but still couldn't turn away._

"_You're not allowed to talk to the witnesses."_

_Wilkinson was suddenly there and stepped between John and his father again._

"_And am I allowed to talk to my underage son?" O'Doyle asked. _

"_Right now, you are definitely not!" Wilkinson said resolutely and without turning he talked to one of the officers who were watching John. "Get him out of here right now…" _

"We have to get in, John!" Amanda's voice burst into the memory. She was patting him on the shoulder again and was watching him with worried eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine" he said and focused back on the happenings at hand.

This time when they went back to their respective places they stayed standing and waited for the judge to announce his decision.

In the end it was what John expected from the beginning. Taking the gravity of the crime and the fact that the supposed perpetrator (meaning himself, of course) has vast knowledge of the jurisdictional system, the danger of escape was considered high. So John was to be escorted to Massachusetts Correctional Institution, also known as Cedar Junction and stay there until the date of the trial.

"I'll contact your workmates" Amanda was talking. "Is there anybody else you want to be notified?" she asked while the two officers came back again and started to put back the cuffs for a change.

He just shook his head. He had nobody. And wasn't that just pathetic?

"I'll visit you as soon as possible. This time of the year it could take some time until they can give a date to your trial."

John nodded to that too because it seemed the appropriate thing to do. But he was thinking about the fact that Cedar Junction was a maximum security prison where there are about 800 criminals closed in together. People he used to arrest himself.

Amanda put a hand on his face and made him look at her.

"Listen, John!" she started briskly. "We will figure this out, okay?"

"Okay" he answered obediently. It was the same phrase Bailey said before and John tried to believe it but it was getting harder and harder to do that.

Amanda sighed, obviously disappointed that she couldn't get a reaction out of him, so he shook himself and for her sake answered more focused.

"I'm going to be fine."

"Yeah… just take care of yourself" she said and then John was led away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The drive to Cedar Junction took quite some time and the whole time, John was pondering his situation without finding any encouraging ideas. Two different guards took him over after they left the courthouse and instead of a patrol car he was escorted in a standard van.

He was somewhat afraid of arriving during yard-time, eyes of a hundred inmates on him as he is being led into the building, but fortunately it was too late for that. The sky was already darkening by the time the van stopped and the guard who travelled with him in the back unchained him from the bench and then gripping his left upper-arm, helped him out.

They were at a back-entrance - or so John guessed - with only one guard in front of the door who just nodded at his escorts and opened the door. Behind the door a long and badly lit corridor started. First of course, he had to go through check in. Theoretically, he knew how things went in prison but it was very different to actually live it through. To undress with two guards watching every movement he made, going through a strict and quite humiliating medical examination and to put on the inmate-uniform. He didn't have many possessions, only his clothes which he has been wearing as everything else had been taken away earlier already, but now even his underwear wasn't really his. Everything was state property. Then he listened as one of the guards told about the prison's policy and then asked if he understood everything. Then it was over. It seemed to John as if took a week to complete everything but in reality it was not more than an hour.

And then with a small box of necessities he was walked into his cell.

On the second floor, on a long corridor, occupied cells on both sides, two inmates each, his was number 23 on the left. The bars were centrally manipulated and when they moved back in place with a click he truly felt the finality of it all. For a second he just stood there concentrating on his breathing then turned to look at the interior of the cell… and his cellmate.

The guy seemed to be good ten years older than John himself and good five inches shorter. His eyes flickered over John with something akin to fear but clearly he tried to cover the fact that he was intimidated. He just watched while John put down his box on the bed then cleared his throat.

"You can have lower bunk, if you'd like to…" he said tentatively.

John wanted nothing less than scare a guy – criminal or not – who has obviously been harassed a lot by other inmates.

"You've slept there until now?"

The guy just shrugged. John simply put his box over onto the upper bunk and shrugged back. His cellmate's mouth twitched at that but he didn't exactly dare to smile yet.

"I'm Dave" he said instead.

"John."

"Well…" Dave started again. "Why are you here, John?"

John didn't answer but started to pack out the few things he got for everyday use. Two T-shirts, an over-shirt, four pair of socks and the same amount of boxers, tooth-brush and toothpaste and a few other things.

"I'm here for burglary" Dave said then after some nervous fidgeting.

John raised an eyebrow at that.

"Isn't that somewhat meager for such a high security prison?" he asked.

Dave fidgeted some more, standing from one foot to the other. It seemed the guy got a serious nervous tick.

"Well… I escaped from police custody… kinda.." he trailed off then added. "If I had known back then what it would be like here, I sure as hell wouldn't have risked that stupid stunt."

"Is it that bad?" John asked trying to sound nonchalant.

"Maybe not for you… you look kinda tough… I mean you probably can defend yourself…"

Normally John would have probably agreed on that but his situation was a little bit extreme but of course he wouldn't mention that to a complete stranger. There was still a chance that his previous job wouldn't go public. Even if it was a slim chance, as he knew for sure that some of his father's old fellows were residing here right now.

So in answer to that he just shrugged.

"Have you been in jail before?"

He has of course, just not as an inmate.

"Not really" he said derisively.

After that Dave went silent and John didn't encourage any more conversation, either. He had a lot of things on his mind but it seemed at least that his cellmate wasn't someone who he had to be scared of.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After that, in the next three days - as they spent most of their time together - John got to know Dave well enough. It turned out that he was a nice guy with a cracked and sarcastic sense of humor. He's been here for four years now and had four more to go which was quite harsh in John's opinion, considering that he was a burglar, specialized in stealing paintings, mostly from private collectors. He sure as hell liked to talk, though and it didn't really disturb him that John rarely answered.

John also found out that Dave had some nasty scars and some even nastier nightmares. From the mumbles and quiet cries John easily put together what the nightmares were about – Dave was obviously assaulted many times during his stay here. He wasn't actually a weakling – John saw him playing basketball in the yard and he was agile and fast, moving with grace - but he wasn't violent by nature and he was unfortunately much shorter and smaller in stature than most of the other prisoners.

They spent one hour in the yard every morning, then they got some jobs for the day – working in kitchen, laundry or somewhere else – then another hour in the yard in the late afternoon, dinner in the great hall and then back to their cells.

John tried to lay low and stay out of trouble and it surprised him that until the third day he managed it quite well but he didn't really count on this to last… and of course it didn't…

Dave and him were on cleaning duty in the kitchen. John was mopping the floor while Dave was cleaning the counter in the other room. John was thinking about the conversation he had with his lawyer earlier that day and about the fact that it would take months until he got his trial when he heard voices. One of them was Dave and he sounded scared.

John moved silently to the door and staying hidden glimpsed into the adjoining room. There were three thugs who didn't belong there for sure. All three were much taller than Dave and they stood around him in a menacing manner, cutting of every way out.

"Davey, Davey, Davey…" the guy in the middle, the tallest, with wide shoulders but quite a belly, told in a mocking voice. "You didn't want to run away from me, did you?"

Dave bowed his head submissively and John could see that he was practically trembling with nerves.

The huge man stepped closer and put a finger under Dave's chin forcing his head up to meet his eyes.

"We haven't had a good time together in too long, don't you agree?" he waved at one of his fellows who went to the door, stepped outside and closed the door behind himself.

Meanwhile the leader of the group grabbed Dave's T-shirt on his chest, hurled him forward and with a hard shove, pushed him against the counter. Dave grunted in pain.

John hesitated only for a second before he made his move. He might want to stay out of trouble but that didn't mean that he would stand by while someone was hurt.

"Is there a problem?" he asked loudly stepping out of the wall's cover.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dave couldn't believe his bad luck. He was vigorously rubbing the greasy counter and didn't think about anything particular, not even when he heard the footsteps. He didn't even look up until he was jerked back by his collar and he came face to face with the last man he wanted to see.

The man's real name was Mitch Rogan but he was known as Bull here in the prison. He was here for a few robberies in which he killed five people all together. He was a cruel bastard and the bane of Dave's existence. Dave thought that Bull was still in solitary, that's why he let his guards down for a while. He tried not to tremble but it was hard because he knew what was coming. After all it happened at least once every month and more often than not after those happenings he ended up in the infirmary.

No one ever helped him. Not another inmate, nor a guard so when he heard John come in, he couldn't really believe his ears. Bull looked back over his shoulder at the intruder.

"None of your business" he growled to John's question whether there was a problem.

Bull obviously took it for granted that the new guy would walk away with his tails between his legs and he turned back the Dave, pushing him even further into the counter. To be honest, Dave thought the same, so he was equally stunned when John cleared his throat. Both Bull and his fellow – his name was Logan something, or so Dave remembered – looked back at the man in the doorway.

"What?!" Bull snapped.

Dave could see that John was leaning against the doorframe, the mop held casually in his right hand. He looked absolutely at ease and Dave couldn't decide whether he was that confident or that crazy.

"You're wrong" he said simply.

"You wanna have a round too?" Bull grinned evilly and Dave shivered at the sight.

The next moment, though, the grin turned into a surprised frown as John moved forward and hit the attacker in the stomach with the head of the mop. Bull growled painfully and staggered backwards.

The other guy – Logan, or what – who was still holding Dave by the arm just stared at the unbelievable scene. He only started to move when John dropped the mop and hit Bull with a quick uppercut which caused the man to fall to the knees slightly dazed. Logan let go of Dave's arm and with a war-cry attacked John – or tried to, as the noise made John aware of the new danger.

Dave thought the whole thing looked like a choreographed action movie, or something. John grabbed Logan's arm, made a half-turn, pulling the guy with him and slammed him against the wall, then finished with a left hook, from which Logan crumbled to the floor. Meanwhile, Bull was standing up and making a move on John again, but he seemed extremely slow in comparison to Dave's cellmate. John even waited a second, letting the attacker come closer, before striking out again – the movement reminded Dave of a snake – and hit Bull on the chin. The monster's head snapped backwards with the force and something audibly cracked. The guy was strong though, and so he didn't collapse just stumbled.

In that moment the door burst open and the third guy stormed in – he must have heard the ruckus - and when he saw what was going on, jumped in immediately. Him, Dave didn't know at all, but he was younger and quicker than the others. He grabbed John's shirt from behind and pulled, but Dave's cellmate didn't seem to care much. John just punched Bull again, then let the same hand move backwards and elbowed the third guy in the face, full force.

"Stop it!" an authorative voice ordered suddenly from the door.

All the fighters stopped in mid-move and Dave, still stunned, just stared at the two CO's barging in. One of them scanned to room then talked into his radio:

"54 needs help in the east-wing kitchen" then turned back to the frozen inmates. "Somebody better start to explain what happened!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was hours later, when they were back in their cell and for the sake of anything that was important to him, Dave had no idea how to start a conversation, which rarely – if ever – happened to him.

There had been a quick audition in the warden's office and for once Dave told the truth. He thought about it for a while but John clearly intended to not lie and in the end Dave came to the same decision. It helped that he knew how many times Bull and his friends got disciplined and he was sure that they would spend long months in SHU after this. Maybe Dave's own request for transfer will be granted by then. So now, he was sitting on the ground his back leant against the cell wall and he was watching his cellmate, thinking about how to phrase what was on his mind.

John was sitting Indian-styled on his bed, the back of his head leant against the wall and he seemed to be deep in thoughts. As usual.

"Hey…" Dave started and when the other man's eyes turned on him he continued, "I just wanted to tell you that… well …. nobody has done something like that for me before. I mean ever. And maybe it was the most stupid thing I've ever seen and we probably will regret it later when Bull gets out again and asks his buddies for help…"

John just raised an eyebrow and Dave smiled sheepishly.

"I'm babbling, what? I just…. thanks, man."

"You're welcome" John answered with a slight smile.

"And if you need anything… really anything… just say so."

John just watched him for a second and then said quietly:

"It's okay, Dave. You don't owe me anything."

With that he lied down, rolled on his back showing that the conversation was over for him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was morning yard time the next day and John was sitting on a bench, watching the two guys next to him – one of them was Dave – playing cards and alternately monitoring his surrounding. The yard was quite depressing with grey, tall walls, barb-wire on top and the ground brown loam, no green anywhere.

Since he arrived here he waited for something to happen. He was always on watch and never relaxed, maybe only in sleep – not that he slept much, honestly – or not even then. So he saw the two inmates walking towards them and recognized them as the two guys from three cells down.

"Uh-uh…" Dave whispered next to him.

"What?" John asked without taking his eyes off of the approaching possible danger.

"Those are Bull's buddies" Dave said.

John straightened but remained sitting. Every fiber of his body became ready to fight.

The two men stopped a few feet away and one of them addressed John.

"We heard news about you…" he started.

_Great!_ John thought but didn't react except maintaining eye-contact.

"Some bird chirped" the guy continued "that you were a fed outside."

When John still didn't react he added.

"The only things guys in here hate more than cops, are feds."

"You want to tell something or you're just working your mouth?" John asked at last.

The guy grinned evilly at that and winked.

"Just watch your back because by now everybody knows this little fact."

With that they walked away leaving a staring Dave at John's side.

"Is that true?"

John just nodded. It wouldn't make much sense to deny it. The guy who Dave played with, collected the cards and without another word scurried away. Dave just stared at him some more then said:

"You are so screwed…"

John scanned the yard again, taking in the many inmates who were all possible sources of danger. He didn't answer Dave, but in all honesty, he couldn't have expressed it better himself.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


End file.
